i 
 
 j
 
 SO 
 
 BERTRAND SMITHS 
 ACRES OF " 
 
 14O PACIFIC ,,/ENUE
 
 BY THE TIBER. 
 
 BY THE AUTHOR OF 
 
 "SIGNOR MONALDINI'S NIECE.' 
 
 ' CAINA ATTENDS.' 
 
 BOSTON: 
 
 ROBERTS BROTHERS. 
 1881.
 
 Copyright, 1881, 
 By ROBERTS BROTHERS. 
 
 UNIVERSITY PRESS : 
 JOHN WILSON AND SON, CAMBRIDGE.
 
 TO 
 
 MR. J. C. HOOKER 
 
 IS GRATEFULLY DEDICATED BY THE AUTHOR. 
 
 Rome, January, 1881. 
 
 2061819
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER * 
 
 I. A FAIRY STORY . . . 1 
 
 II. FELICITA INFELICE . 3 
 
 III. VlTTORIO 8 
 
 IV. UNDER THE ROSE 15 
 
 V. ORANGE-BUDS 22 
 
 VI. APPLE-BLOSSOMS 32 
 
 VII. CASA PASSARINA 35 
 
 VIII. A FAMILY MEETING 47 
 
 IX. AMONG THE NERI . 55 
 
 X. KATE CROMO 65 
 
 XI. BLACK SPIRITS AND WHITE, BLUE SPIRITS 
 
 AND GRAY 75 
 
 XII. TRYING TO BE "Gooo" . 97 
 
 XIII. FLITTING 104 
 
 XIV. WITH MOTHER NATURE 118 
 
 XV. ROSA PRENESTINA . ". 129 
 
 XVI. COUNTRY LIFE r . . 137 
 
 XVII, " SWEET HOME" 148 
 
 XVIIL A GOOD-NATURED FELLOW 166 
 
 XIX. REJECTED HELP 178 
 
 XX. THE BEGINNING OF THE END 196
 
 v iii CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER . PAGB 
 
 XXI. SOLE IN LEONE 214 
 
 XXII. IN A WHEAT-FIELD 230 
 
 XXIII. ON THE SEA 241 
 
 XXIV. UNDER THE PASSION-FLOWERS 250 
 
 XXV. ROBACCIA DI ROMA 256 
 
 XXVI. THE CLICK OF A LOCK 264 
 
 XXVII. LA CARITA ROMANA 279 
 
 XXVIII. THE WITNESSES 291 
 
 XXIX. MAKING THE BEST OF IT 300 
 
 XXX. UNMASKING 316 
 
 XXXI. DE PROFUNDIS 333 
 
 XXXII. FOUR-LEAVED CLOVERS 346 
 
 XXXIII. IN THE NET 349 
 
 XXXIV. HOME AGAIN 369 
 
 XXXV. "SAID THE NORTH TO THE SOUTH". . 386
 
 BY THE TIBER. 
 
 CHAPTEE I. 
 
 A FAIRY STORY. 
 
 OXCE upon a time, as a royal exile who was vis- 
 iting Eome rode out with his friends to the 
 chase, they passed a certain rude stone house set in 
 a vineyard. This house had been a sepulchre in 
 ancient times; but the dust of the dead was blown 
 away, and the vase which had held it was set in a 
 museum, and the marbles that had adorned it were torn 
 off to ornament the palaces of the living, and over its 
 crumbling foundations had been built a new house 
 wherein dwelt Gigi, the vine-dresser, with his daugh- 
 ter Felicita and her step-mother, Nanna. 
 
 It was a rough place ; but the poppies grew brill- 
 iantly all about its foundations, and wall-flowers nod- 
 ded out of reach above, and an ivy-vine crept up, stone 
 by stone, and draped itself around a small square 
 window set close beside the only remaining skeleton 
 window of the ruin. This window opened on a nar- 
 row road of the Agro Romano; and when the chase 
 went by in the early morning, there was a face 
 framed in its cornice of leaves. Felicita looked out 
 at the horsemen, and laughed and blushed when they 
 all looked up at her. Whe'n the prince took off his 
 hat to her she only laughed and blushed the more, 
 and no more thought of saluting him than she would
 
 2 BY THE TIBER. 
 
 have thought of saluting the sun when it burned her 
 face. 
 
 After they had passed, one looked back and drank 
 that face of hers with thirsty eyes ; and Felicita 
 looked after him across the dark green vines. When 
 he was hidden from her eyes by a turn of the road, a 
 miracle of nature was wrought in the girl ; for her 
 heart, knocking strongly at some hitherto unopened 
 door of her soul, wakened her dormant imagination, 
 that sprang like a butterfly from the chrysalis ; so 
 that, leaning from her window, she still saw the gal- 
 lant cavalier on his roan steed, and knew that his 
 flashing eyes were as black as carbon, and that his 
 swarthy cheek kept the vivid color that had kindled 
 at her glance. 
 
 The girl's face was worth looking back to see, 
 though its outlines were not perfect. A wealth of 
 shining black hair was braided into a coronet about 
 her beautiful head, and her eyes were large, brown, 
 and sparkling. For the color of her soft, full face 
 and neck, it would have looked pink if you had held 
 an orange-blossom to it, but, cheek to cheek with a 
 red rose, it showed pure white. Then her blushes 
 were always coming and going, soft, light blushes 
 that were not a flame, but only the light of a flame. 
 
 So Felicita looked after the unknown cavalier, and 
 thought of him till she forgot to laugh and jest as 
 usual when Marco Bandini came to see her that 
 evening. Marco was her promised husband, and 
 they were to be married the next Easter. Gigi and 
 Nanna had arranged the marriage, and she was con- 
 tent with it ; for Marco was gardener in a neighbor- 
 ing villa, and had put a pile of golden scudi in the 
 great bank at Rome. 
 
 But now new fancies began to flutter through the 
 girl's life, fancies simple and innocent at first, like 
 the little white butterflies that go fanning about in
 
 FELICITY INFELICE. 3 
 
 early spring. But summer hastens after spring, and 
 the butterflies of July have painted wings. 
 
 One day Felicita disappeared and left no trace. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 FELICITA. INFELICE. 
 
 THE father and Marco searched, of course ; but 
 they might as well have searched for the dust 
 of the dead whose home they had invaded. They 
 raved, of course ; but they might as well have raved 
 against the wind that bore that dust away. The 
 mocking smile, the cold surprise, the helpless shrug 
 of the shoulders, which met their questions, were 
 utterly baffling Namia, threatened by both, and 
 beaten by her husband, called on all the saints to wit- 
 ness that she knew nothing of the girl's abduction or 
 flight. 
 
 Gigi raved himself to death. He was very nearly a 
 beast, this vine-dresser, dull and easy-humored when 
 all went well, and lashing himself into a blind fury 
 when he was crossed ; and his fury, having nothing 
 else to spend itself upon, turned its poison backward, 
 and gave him a paralytic stroke. He might have 
 recovered had he chosen to keep quiet ; but with 
 returning health came returning passion, and a sec- 
 ond stroke followed the first one. Only when death 
 was at hand did the beast in him lie down, and some- 
 thing of higher calm look out of his eyes. 
 
 And then, at last, Felicita, the ghost of herself, 
 came stealing in one evening, and sank sobbing on 
 her knees by his bedside, .and dropped a purse of 
 gold into his chilling hand. He asked no questions, 
 and she told no tales. His hand let slip the gold,
 
 4 BY THE TIBER. 
 
 motioned to touch her bowed head, and fell short of 
 it. And then death blindfolded him, and took him 
 away to other scenes. 
 
 When all was over, Nanna whispered a sharp ques- 
 tion into the girl's ear, and received a sobbing answer. 
 " He is sick, and his mother and sisters came and sent 
 me away. He is sorry that he took me. He will 
 die." 
 
 Nanna went herself to see if the story were true, 
 and was driven away with contumely. She had to 
 be content with the gold that Felicita had brought ; 
 she took it, and they lived on together. 
 
 Marco kept away from them. Had her father been 
 living, her lover would have wished to kill Felicita ; 
 but Gigi's death had fallen like a frost upon his wrath, 
 and he let her alone. He kept a constant watch upon 
 her, though. There was a certain point in the wall 
 of the villa whence he could see the green door with 
 rough gray steps leading up to it, and the window 
 with the ivy, and a slope of grass with a solitary 
 cypress standing above it. Day after day he watched, 
 but caught no glimpse of her, till, when weeks had 
 passed, he began to long for the sight of her with 
 other feelings than those of jealous anger ; and when 
 weeks had multiplied, he came to think that, if but 
 she would ask him, he would forgive her anything. 
 
 At last, as he gazed at her window one morning in 
 the spring, Felicita appeared there with an infant in 
 her arms, and stood framed in the ivy. His heart 
 leaped to her so gladly that it took in even the child. 
 Standing there with the little one nestled into her 
 neck, she seemed to say to him, We are inseparable. 
 If you take one, you must take both. 
 
 It was an apparition. She stayed only long enough 
 to say so much. 
 
 Marco returned to his work ; but sunset found him 
 again on guard, and again rewarded.
 
 FELICITA INFELICE, 5 
 
 This time Felicita stood in the open door, and 
 looked out on the road to right and left, as if to see 
 if any one were within sight. It was a still, bright 
 evening, burnished with a sunset that made the very 
 turf look like cloth of gold. The climbing ivy above 
 her head pushed a few leaf-tips out of the shade and 
 lighted them like lamps. The cypress, impervious to 
 the sunshine, glowed sullenly on its westward side, 
 and stretched a long pointed shadow, shaped like a 
 dagger, down the shining green. 
 
 " L' she comes out, I will take her ! " said Marco, 
 breathlessly. 
 
 Felicita hesitated, clasped her babe closer, then 
 came out slowly, step by step, walked across the 
 green, and seated herself in the shadow of the cy- 
 press. Sitting there motionless, she looked like the 
 figure of a woman damaskeened on a sword-blade. 
 
 A month later she and Marco were married. She 
 gave herself to him willingly enough, threw herself 
 away on him, indeed, as a thing no longer of any 
 value. He gave up his place, bade the step-mother 
 never come near them, and took Felicita and her 
 child to a new home. This was a deserted villa away 
 among the Sabine mountains, in a hidden spot above 
 which Palestrina climbs the height where once stood 
 the temple of Fortune, Fortunce Sanctce, and of the 
 infant Jove, where the broken olive-tree ran with 
 honey and oil, and the ever-burning lamp under its 
 loi'ty arch warned the distant mariners off the Tiro- 
 nian shore to worship the goddess of the sea. 
 
 Felicita went unresistingly ; but as she went, the 
 weight of every milestone they passed was added to 
 her heart. She performed her duties faithfully in 
 that green solitude to which her husband had brought 
 her, but she seldom smiled, or seemed interested 
 in anything but her child. She would bend over 
 the babe for hours, gazing down into his face as one
 
 6 BY THE TIBER. 
 
 may gaze into a deep lake down which some price- 
 less, irrecoverable treasure has sunk, and now and 
 then her eyes would light up suddenly for a moment 
 as if she had caught a glimpse of a lost delight. 
 
 One might have believed that her husband would 
 be jealous; but he showed no sign of displeasure. He, 
 too, had his dreams, not of a fleeting s\veetness sunk 
 forever in the past, but of a glorious future when the 
 earth should no longer be the possession of a few, but 
 for mankind, and when every man should dare to 
 speak his boldest thought without fear of imprison- 
 ment or exile. 
 
 To this man, whose passionate intelligence had 
 burst the crust of the contadino without taking on 
 the still harder shell of conventionality, a king or 
 ruler was but a man raised on the will of the people, 
 and sustained on that will, like a ball tossing on the 
 top of a fountain-jet, which may at any moment with- 
 draw and let it roll into obscurity, or be crushed under- 
 foot. 
 
 Let Felicita caress and pamper her child, then, and 
 teach him to scorn a common life, and whisper to 
 him that his dead father had been the companion 
 of kings. Later, when the young mind should begin 
 to awaken, he, too, would help to train the boy, 
 would use his daintinesses and his disdains for a 
 purpose worthy of them. The two streams of blood 
 in his veins should never unite ; they should forever 
 foam and fret against each other till they filled him 
 with a hatred more intense than any mere contadino 
 could feel. 
 
 Meantime he meant to make a gardener of him, 
 not a mere workman but an artist ; and he employed 
 a young teacher from the seminary in the town to 
 come down for an hour every day and instruct the 
 little Vittorio, since the mother was not willing to 
 send him to school.
 
 FELICITA INFELICE. 7 
 
 " A boy who has been taught reading, writing, and 
 Latin ought to be able to learn the rest himself," 
 said Marco. " I will teach him botany; and he will 
 have a chance to see gardens when he is older." 
 
 When Vittorio was five years old his mother died 
 in giving birth to a daughter. 
 
 Marco found a trusty nurse for the two little ones, 
 and went steadily on with his work, his imagination 
 meantime digging under the debris of ruined gov- 
 ernments to find the golden foundations of a lost 
 paradise. 
 
 " It is long in coming," he said to Garibaldi, who 
 came to his house more than once. 
 
 " Patience ! " replied the soldier. " Patience and 
 faith ! When you see the aurora, you may be sure 
 that the day is coming. The spirit of freedom 
 does not rest, nor turn back, any more than the 
 sun does, when once it has set its face toward a 
 people." 
 
 " If only I could talk as you do ! " said Marco, 
 gazing admiringly at his hero. " If only I had the 
 gift of stirring people up ! But I can only speak 
 in such a fury that people shut their hearts against 
 my words, as they shut their windows against a 
 tempest." 
 
 " Be silent then," said Garibaldi, smiling. " Acts 
 are better than words. You may not know the fa- 
 mous old law of the joust and tournament : ' The lance 
 does not liberate the sword, but the sword liberates 
 the lance.' All the words we can utter do not free us 
 from the duty of acting when the time comes; and 
 one good blow for the right will cover the silence of 
 a life." 
 
 " I am going to be a soldier," said a clear, sweet 
 voice beside the two. "Marco has given me a 
 sword." 
 
 " Bravo, little Duke ! " said Garibaldi, turning to
 
 8 BY THE TIBER. 
 
 the child. "And whom are you going to fight 
 against ? " 
 
 " Traitors," replied Vittorio, unsheathing his toy 
 sword and looking up into the questioner's face with 
 brilliant, serious eyes. 
 
 " He 's a good bit of steel," said the soldier ; and, 
 giving him a light blow on the cheek, added, " That 
 is your confirmation." 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 VITTOEIO. 
 
 YEAES passed, and Vittorio more than answered 
 his step-father's expectations. He was beauti- 
 ful in person and refined in tastes, and the hate that 
 had been nourished in his soul was to the hate of 
 Marco what the spirit of a high-mettled horse is to 
 that of a mule. He was becoming too restive, indeed, 
 and the quiet and solitude of his villa life were irri- 
 tating him so much that he welcomed the prospect 
 of other employment than that of merely helping 
 Marco. 
 
 A friend of Marco's, the gardener in Villa Cesarini, 
 in Genzano, sent for Vittorio to come to him on a 
 certain day of the summer which completed his 
 twenty-fourth year. A Neapolitan prince, who had 
 just bought a large villa within the walls of Rome, 
 was coming to see the Cesariui gardens. He wanted 
 a gardener ; and if the young man would be on the 
 spot when he made his visit, the situation might be 
 procured for him. 
 
 " I would rather meet him there in the open air 
 than go to see him in Rome," Vittorio said. " I will 
 not wait in any man's anteroom, nor stand, cap
 
 VITTORIO. 9 
 
 in hand, while he sits talking to me. I should be 
 sure to do something that would make him refuse 
 me." 
 
 There was little likelihood of Vittorio's being 
 refused for any other reason than a want of hu- 
 mility, for he had studied his art with the pas- 
 sion with which such a nature turns to the one 
 pleasure and distraction possible to it. He could 
 not be intimate with gentlemen, he would not asso- 
 ciate with contadini, and he therefore made himself 
 intimate with nature. He studied the ways and 
 habits of plants, their virtues and vices, their laws 
 and their histories. All his soul, poetic, fiery, ambi- 
 tious, and outraged, having no human consolation, 
 turned to the flowers, and found in them a fair new 
 world wherein he was not without honor. The 
 flowers tried to please Vittorio, Marco said. And, 
 indeed, he was notable for his success with them. 
 
 He set out early one summer morning for Genzano, 
 .making the last part of the journey, from Albano, on 
 f oot, glad of a walk which might a little quiet his 
 nervous agitation. He had resolved to accept the 
 situation if it were offered him; but the necessity 
 was bitter. It seemed a tacit acknowledgment of a 
 social position which he had always tacitly protested 
 against. 
 
 Arriving at Villa Cesarini, he exchanged a few 
 words with the gardener, and went into the garden to 
 wait, strolling about, and examining everything. 
 
 That long row of hydrangeas that leaned so heavily 
 on the rail with their weight of pink and violet- 
 colored balls would look well set beside still waters ; 
 so he thought. All the water should be colored with 
 flowers. " I wish there were a pond. A fountain- 
 basin is nothing. I will have somewhere a wide thin 
 sheet of a cascade with a crowd of scarlet flowers 
 behind it, and some scarlet flowers where it falls to
 
 10 BY THE TIBER. 
 
 send a red light along the ripples. That should be 
 in a place that has strong lights and shades ; perhaps, 
 ail ivy wall behind, a tree hanging over, and the 
 south sun pouring in, with something dense to splinter 
 the beams up into a sharp rain." 
 
 He paused in a little open terrace, and looked down 
 upon Lake Nemi's misty mirror, all liquid green and 
 purple, with a dream of a white cloud sailing over. 
 The emerald banks pushed into the water, which 
 seemed to have colored itself from them, in many a 
 graceful curve and point. Far away on its bosom 
 was a tiny boat. Across the water, Nemi hung upon 
 the hillside, its whitely dropping waterfall a motion- 
 less line in the distance. " After all," said Vittorio, 
 " what can be done with a few acres of almost level 
 land ! One needs distance, a lake and a mountain." 
 
 His mind was always breaking bounds in this way. 
 When one has only imaginary possessions, one may 
 as well wish grandly. 
 
 Vittorio had nothing, and worse than nothing. 
 When he lifted his head, aware of the shadowy 
 coronet in his hair, the blouse clung to and scorched 
 him like the shirt of Nessus ; and when he would 
 have contented himself with the blouse, the proud 
 blood in his veins foamed up, and assailed him, heart 
 and brain, in a blind rage of protest. The canopy 
 which he could almost feel waving its crested fringe 
 over his head flouted the mire in which his feet 
 were entangled. All the joints of his life were 
 torn and dislocated by these strong horses of fate, 
 tied to his vitals and pulling in opposite ways. 
 
 Turning away from the terrace, he went down the 
 winding path, and paused again in a shaded opening 
 below. It was an exquisite spot, so perfectly imi- 
 tating one of Nature's graceful, careless moods that 
 Nature herself might have believed it her own work. 
 There was no view into the distance : the place was
 
 VITTORIO. 11 
 
 only an opening of the path into a grassy, irregular 
 space closely shut in by trees. From under the ter- 
 race above dropped a scattered rain, like water from 
 the eaves, dropped and stole into little rills among 
 the grass, and united into a pool on a bed of yellow- 
 pebbles, and ran away in a little brook that scarcely 
 dared to murmur above its breath. Over the pool 
 leaned a weeping willow. Vittorio stood beneath the 
 willow, and gazed into this pool, which reflected his 
 face. 
 
 Nothing could be more beautiful than both his face 
 and form. His beauty was of that character of 
 mingled Arabic and Italian which can be compared 
 only with itself. Golden bronze and sunset crimson 
 do not describe its rich shadow and bloom. The 
 long tapering lines of the limbs, the features which art 
 could only copy, not improve, the liquid dark eyes, 
 the unsmiling lips, the shining black hair in a mass of 
 loose waves, the small brown hands, there was not 
 a flaw in them. His dress, though in some sort a 
 workman's, was graceful. An antique intaglio in red 
 carnelian buttoned the blue collar of his belted 
 blouse, and a broad-brimmed hat of very dark blue 
 crushed the hair half over his forehead, and curled up 
 at the sides showing his profile. In the wide black 
 baud of the hat was set a small gray feather with a 
 scarlet tip. 
 
 While he stood thus, three persons came into the 
 terrace above, a lady and gentleman accompanied by 
 the gardener. The gentleman passed on after a mo- 
 ment, to examine the place, which he had never 
 visited before ; the lady remained on the terrace, her 
 feet on a mat of ivy and myrtle, one knee slightly 
 bent to an ancient capital of a column placed there 
 as a seat. She looked off' a moment toward Nemi, 
 then downward to the dim bower from whence a 
 musical tinkle of water-drops came faintly to her ear.
 
 12 BY THE TIBER. 
 
 At first she could see nothing. Vittorio, looking into 
 the pool, saw her face reflected clearly. It looked 
 down upon him as from the sky, only the leaf-flecked 
 blue behind and around it, a face with the proud, 
 white, and almost sullen oval of a young Juno. A 
 dress of dark blue showed through the rustic parapet, 
 and a shawl of fine white wool bound her head, and 
 dropped on her shoulders. A red rose had just been 
 pushed into the locks behind her left ear, and a bunch 
 of red roses were half falling out of her belt. She 
 wore Vittorio's colors. " 
 
 His stern and bitter expression softened as he 
 gazed at the reflected image ; and, after a moment, his 
 heart began to tremble faintly, like the water in which 
 that image lay. He would have passed the lady in- 
 differently if they had met in the common way ; he 
 had more than once opposed a curling lip to the 
 admiring smiles of fine ladies; but alone with her 
 in this ideal world, shot through by a glance from 
 the woman above, and her shadow below, he could 
 not be indifferent. 
 
 The Donna Adelaide, gazing steadily downward, 
 saw indistinctly the shape beneath the willow, saw 
 the dark-blue hat with its red-tipped feather, the 
 beautiful profile and the graceful figure. But she did 
 not see the pool with her own face in it. 
 
 Neither moved, and nature stood motionless around 
 them. The sunshine seemed to have crystallized 
 about the scene. The faintly heard bells ringing the 
 noon Angelus from the towers of Nemi was all the 
 sound they heard, except the water-drops and their 
 own hearts. 
 
 " What beautiful creature is this ? " whispered the 
 lady to herself. " Why does he not look up ? He is 
 perhaps one of the Alpinisti. They are about here 
 somewhere; and the hat looks like. I have half a 
 mind to drop him a rose."
 
 VITTORW. 13 
 
 She glanced around, and, seeing that her father was 
 at a distance, talking over with the gardener some ar- 
 rangement of azaleas and camellias which he wished to 
 reproduce in his own villa, she drew one of the roses 
 from her belt, and held it in her hand hanging over 
 the parapet. Her backward glance and her gesture 
 were all mirrored below. 
 
 Vittorio looked suddenly up as the rose rustled 
 down to his feet ; but the lady was gazing off to- 
 ward Nemi, and did not seem aware of his vicinity. 
 He stooped for the rose, and hid it in his bosom. 
 The next instant he heard voices above, the face dis- 
 appeared from the terrace, and presently steps came 
 down the path. 
 
 The gardener appeared, followed by an elderly gen- 
 tleman. After them came the Donna Adelaide. Her 
 figure was tall and straight, proud rather than grace- 
 ful, and her slight arched foot seemed scarcely to 
 touch the path. One hand held lightly the long, dark- 
 blue folds of her dress ; the other hung lightly by her 
 side. Her head was as proudly erect as if the fascia 
 alba that bound it had been the ancient diadem of 
 the Orient. She glanced coldly at the man under 
 the willow, and bit her lip. with a quick, involuntary 
 pressure when she saw his blouse. 
 
 " This is the young man whom I have recommended 
 to your Excellency," said the gardener. " Would you 
 like to speak to him ?" 
 
 Vittorio touched his hat, but did not remove it, 
 and waited to be spoken to. His heart ached with a 
 sudden spasm. Here was his master! 
 
 The prince glanced at him as from an immeasura- 
 ble distance. " You might come to Rome to-morrow, 
 and see the place," he said, and passed on. 
 
 Vittorio muttered a word of assent, then quite re- 
 moved his hat to the lady, and looked at her earnestly 
 as she passed him. She glanced him over compre-
 
 14 BY THE TIBER. 
 
 hensively, but without the slightest sign of salutation. 
 What sort of gardener was this who wore a hat that 
 a gentleman might wear for a caprice, and clean shoes 
 that fitted him perfectly, and who buttoned his cotton 
 blouse at neck and wrist with antique intagli, and 
 fastened his leather belt with an antique bronze 
 buckle which she might herself have worn ? To be 
 sure, any gardener or contadino might dig such things 
 out of the ground ; but, then, they always sold them 
 for their superiors to wear. 
 
 She passed him with just as much notice as she 
 might have given to a tree ; but she had dropped her 
 rose to him, he knew. And that rose, like a live coal 
 dropped upon an altar prepared for it, burned on his 
 heart with a fire never to be extinguished. It burned 
 not only his heart ; it consumed every interest of his 
 past life, every hope that he had cherished for the 
 future. Politics, rank, kingdoms and republics, 
 what did they matter to him ? He knew them no more. 
 Before the Donna Adelaide had traversed the long 
 loop of the descending path, and come back to that 
 part directly beneath where Vittorio stood, a dazzlingly 
 sweet passion had taken entire possession of him. 
 
 Passing beneath, the Neapolitan turned her head, 
 and looked deliberately and steadily up into his face 
 as he looked down, and though her own was immova- 
 bly cold, quick sparks were flickering in her dark 
 eyeballs. 
 
 " Heavens ! how beautiful he is ! " she whispered 
 to herself as she went on. 
 
 " Is that man a Swiss gardener ? " she demanded of 
 their guide, who was himself Swiss. 
 
 " He is Italian, Eccellenza," replied the man, think- 
 ing that she could not have looked at Vittorio, whose 
 face was the soul of Italy. 
 
 " Is he of your town ? " the prince inquired care- 
 lessly, not interested in the least, but intending to be 
 amiable.
 
 UNDER THE ROSE. 15 
 
 " Oh, no ! he is not rciba di Genzano" the gardener 
 answered. " His mother was a Roman contadina, and 
 his father, they say, was the Duke of Monteforte." 
 
 Adelaide turned quickly to loosen her floating 
 scarf from an oleander branch that had caught it, 
 and hid the smile that sprang to her lips. Even in 
 the dark she had not mistaken the son of a clod for 
 the son of a gentleman ! 
 
 For Vittorio, he stood there rapt before a trans- 
 figured life. It was as when, standing upon a moun- 
 tain-top, when the rain has ceased, with the blue 
 above, and the level sunbeams underfoot, one sees 
 close at hand in the plain the dusky wall of cloud 
 and slanting rain extending from the earth to the 
 heavens, and almost within arm's reach upon its 
 front, the sudden glory of the rainbow set its foun- 
 dations of red and blue and yellow on the dazzled 
 stones and grass of the valley. 
 
 Vittorio felt as if a rainbow had dropped its airy 
 splendor about him. 
 
 So comes love in the lands of the sun, as swift as 
 an arrow from a bow. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 UNDER THE ROSE. 
 
 THE purchaser of Villa Mitella, a man of im- 
 mense wealth, had also purchased his title of 
 prince. His family was of the lower nobility of the 
 South of Italy, and had counts and cavaliers in 
 Naples and Sicily. The villa grounds were large, 
 and the gardens highly cultivated ; but there was a 
 newly added portion of land which had not yet 
 been laid out. The new part included a small but
 
 16 BY THE TIBER. 
 
 commodious house. This house, with the casino, 
 or palace, as it was usually called, and the garden- 
 er's house, were not set within the gardens, but 
 made a part of the walls. The palace faced the west, 
 the gardener's house was at the eastern extremity of 
 the grounds, and the newly acquired house, called by 
 common consent the casuccia, faced the south. The 
 north wall was not interrupted by any building. 
 
 Vittorio's house, though small, was a charming 
 little nest. The ground floor opened only into the 
 garden, and was reserved for tools. An outside stair 
 led up to a picturesque vaulted room with a wide 
 lattice. A bedroom beside this, and two rooms 
 above, comprised the apartment. One of the upper 
 rooms served as a kitchen, and an outside stair 
 descended from it to a narrow street which ran 
 beneath the eastern walls of the villa. 
 
 Here Vittorio lived quite alone. In the morning 
 he made his own coffee, and once a day came an old 
 woman to bring his dinner and put the apartment in 
 order. He remained in the house while she was 
 there, showed her out into the back street when she 
 had finished, and locked and barred the door behind 
 her. A very assuming young man for a gardener, 
 she considered him, and remarkably curioso in all his 
 ways ; but she took care not to transgress the bounds 
 he set her. The " Signer Vittorio," she had called 
 him at first ; but he corrected her incisively. " My 
 name is Vittorio." " As if to call him Signore were 
 an insult," she said to her cronies. 
 
 Save for this old woman, the street door of the 
 house was very seldom opened. Vittorio never went 
 out in the evening, and seldom even by day, except 
 when business required ; and the men he employed 
 entered by a small gate in the wall close to the cor- 
 ner of the casuccia. 
 
 Marco came to Eome to see his step-son after a few
 
 UNDER THE ROSE. 17 
 
 weeks. Ringing the bell of the south gate, as he had 
 been told to do, he was admitted by one of the assist- 
 ant gardeners, and after a few minutes' search found 
 Vittorio among the orange-trees. He was examining 
 them carefully, and cutting the finest buds into a 
 little basket, and so absorbed in his occupation that 
 he started on hearing a step near him, and colored 
 deeply with surprise and anger as he turned to see 
 who it was. 
 
 " Oh ! I thought it was one of the men," he said ; 
 " and I don't allow them to come here." 
 
 The two saluted each other rather dryly. Their 
 affection had never been demonstrative. Their sym- 
 pathy consisted in a common hate of their social supe- 
 riors, and a common love of their own profession ; but 
 their personal tastes and habits were quite diverse. 
 
 " You don't allow the men to come here ? " Marco 
 repeated interrogatively, as he followed Vittorio to a 
 fountain set against a wall near by. 
 
 " No ; they have nothing to do here, and they have 
 no right to go so near to the palace. The gate is 
 opened only by permission, and when it is necessary, 
 and there is no other entrance except through the 
 palace and through my house." 
 
 As he replied, Vittorio went up the steps at the 
 side of the fountain, and, pushing away the veiling 
 ivy, set the basket of orange-buds on a little spray- 
 wet shelf of the rock-work. Two white pigeons, that 
 had been drinking there in the cool shade on the 
 brim of the marble basin, fluttered away for a mo- 
 ment, then returned to their spray-catching and their 
 billing and cooing. 
 
 Marco stood back in a thicket of red and white ca- 
 mellias, and looked about him. " I would like to see 
 what you are doing," he said. " And I have but a 
 little time to stay, for I must take the evening train 
 to Valmontone. That benedetta diligence takes six 
 2
 
 18 BY THE TIBER. 
 
 hours on the road. I started at seven o'clock this 
 morning, and have only just arrived. How do you 
 get along ? " 
 
 " Very well. I could n't be better off." 
 
 Marco's clouded eyes flashed out a sharp glance 
 into his companion's face. He had found Vittorio 
 paler and thinner than when they parted. 
 
 " You were cutting orange-buds," he said, glancing 
 up at the mossy shelf where they were set. " They 
 say that the Donna Adelaide is to be married to- 
 morrow." 
 
 " Yes," Vittorio answered briefly, moving away. 
 
 They walked about the garden, looking at the flow- 
 ers and at the work begun in the new laud. Com- 
 ing to the gardener's house, they went in and drank a 
 glass of wine together, and Vittorio gave his step- 
 father a present for Eosa. It was a beautiful Gre- 
 cian scarabeo of lapis-lazuli, with a Minerva engraven 
 on it. 
 
 " I found two of them when I made the new drain," 
 he said, " and I thought this would please Eosa. The 
 other is a Victory, and I have kept it for my name. 
 They belong to me as much as to any one. They were 
 under the wall ; and the land under the wall belongs 
 to nobody." 
 
 "Sicuro!" replied Marco with tranquil acquies- 
 cence, examining the gem, and mentally calculating 
 its value. . 
 
 Presently they went out again, and, after strolling 
 about for a while, paused behind a half-moon laurel 
 hedge, through which was visible a company of ladies 
 and gentlemen breakfasting in the open air. 
 
 Palazzo Mitella was a solid pile, with a wing at 
 either side extending farther back into the garden, 
 and thus enclosing three sides of a paved square, into 
 which opened the long windows of the surrounding 
 rooms. The table was set in this open court, and
 
 UNDER THE ROSE. 19 
 
 five or six persons were seated there. The city with- 
 out was swimming in heat, and just sinking into a 
 languid mid-day sleep ; but in this secluded spot, as 
 silent as the heart of a forest, a faint and fitful 
 breath of air from the east passed over the garden, 
 and cooled and scented its wings before reaching the 
 company. 
 
 Marco gazed at the scene with that gloomy, taci- 
 turn face of his, marked the glittering china and 
 silver, the rose-red and golden-yellow of the wines, 
 the fruits and flowers, the obsequious servants. He 
 noted the company, their easy attitudes, almost loung- 
 ing in the large leather-covered arm-chairs, and lis- 
 tened to their low-voiced talk and light laughter. 
 " Outside," he thought, " the hungry beggar drops 
 his head upon the curbstone to sleep, and the poor 
 mother hushes her child's cries that they may not be 
 turned away from the doorway in which they have 
 taken refuge, and the ragged children cluster on the 
 church steps, thankful for a crust of bread. While 
 these who laid the first stone around which have 
 petrified all the insolent privileges and crushing 
 power under which we groan ? Some man no better 
 than I am, who did a deed for which I should be 
 hanged if I did it to-day. It is time for us to move. 
 This play of the great is respectable only because the 
 actors put on such serious airs. If once we, the spec- 
 tators, should laugh aloud, all the world would see 
 how ridiculous it is. Ah, may they hear a laugh 
 that will chill the marrow in their bones ! " 
 
 The glance and breath of this man's face might 
 well have scorched what it touched ; but the laurel 
 screen through which he gazed held bright and un- 
 scathed its glossy, scented leaves, proud with the mem- 
 ories of many a triumph. Its unfading green had 
 never wreathed such brows as his. 
 
 Marco turned his eyes, without turning his head,
 
 20 BY THE TIBER. 
 
 to speak to his companion; but the words were 
 arrested on his lips by the look in Vittorio's face. 
 It could hardly be called an expression : it was an 
 absorption. Vittorio gazed into the face of the 
 Donna Adelaide, his whole being drowned in the con- 
 templation of her, and utterly calm in the intensity 
 of that trance. 
 
 Marco's own face changed as he watched him, and 
 grew calm with something of the same intensity. 
 He recollected, read, and understood. There was no 
 mistaking the utter passion of Vittorio's gazing eyes. 
 
 Then he looked back at the lady. She was no 
 longer to him merely a member of the class which 
 he hated ; she was an individual, and her slender 
 white arms, stronger than Samson's, were wreathed 
 about the pillars of a temple into which were built 
 the hopes of his life. 
 
 She sat there in careless ease, a long white robe 
 falling about her, half hiding the dim gilding and 
 the lions' claws of her chair, a red silk turban folded 
 about the thick tresses of her dark hair. She scarcely 
 replied to the young man who sat beside her, and 
 gave only an absent word to the others ; yet Marco's 
 piercing eyes detected in her something of purpose, 
 some alertness of attention under her apparent lan- 
 guor and abstraction. That play of the hand and 
 arm, those movements of the head that made its 
 fringed drapery wave as if a breeze had passed over 
 it, that pushing out of the small foot from beneath 
 its flowing drapery, it was not all unconscious. She 
 was playing off these graces on some one. It was not 
 the man at her side. Who was it ? 
 
 While he looked she raised a cluster of red roses 
 from her lap, touched them to her lips, as if breathing 
 their perfume, then veiling her face from the others 
 with them, gave a quick, searching glance around the 
 garden, probed with her flashing eyes the laurel
 
 UNDER THE ROSE. 21 
 
 screen, and let them melt there for an instant. Then 
 she dropped the roses, and resumed her languid 
 coolness. 
 
 The blood that rushed to Marco's face sang so 
 loudly in his ears that he did not hear the breath 
 at his side sharply drawn as if it had been held long 
 suspended. 
 
 Both turned away involuntarily ; but in turning, 
 Vittorio snatched a laurel leaf, and threw the hand 
 holding it up over his head, and held it there a mo- 
 ment, the gesture full of a fiery exultation. He 
 seemed to have crowned himself. 
 
 It was several minutes before Marco could control 
 himself to ask calmly, " What part of the palace will 
 they live in when they come back? They say that 
 an apartment is prepared for them here." 
 
 Vittorio pointed to the north wing. He did not 
 seem to have found his voice. Marco walked in that 
 direction, and he was obliged to follow, slipping from 
 one hedge and grove to another, to remain unseen by 
 the company at the table, till they stood close to the 
 palace. This north wing had but two stories above 
 the ground floor, and ended in a loggia along the 
 whole priino piano. Two long windows opened into 
 this loggia, and a narrow stair, half hidden near the 
 outer wall, descended from it into the garden. The 
 loggia and stair, and the corner of the garden that 
 surrounded them, were all wreathed and smothered in 
 roses. There were roses for every month in the year, 
 overlapping each other in constantly increasing rich- 
 ness, roses piled on roses, till the ground was a 
 pink and white carpet with their falling petals, and 
 the bridal apartment was like a casket in which the 
 Persian attar has been spilt. 
 
 If Vittorio had looked into Marco's face he would 
 scarcely have known him ; for never had he seen in it 
 that glittering, ferocious joy. It was such a light as
 
 22 BY THE TIBER. 
 
 shines in the eyes of the tiger when he quivers with 
 repressed force and eagerness, the instant before 
 launching himself upon the prey of which he is 
 sure. 
 
 Felicita was avenged ! 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 ORANGE-BUDS. 
 
 THE north wing of the palace had been newly 
 fitted up as a bridal apartment, and the Donna 
 Adelaide had already taken possession of it. She 
 was to be married early in the morning in church, 
 and leave Rome immediately to spend two months 
 in the country. 
 
 On the evening before her wedding she dismissed 
 her maid early, everything being prepared for her 
 toilet in the morning. The bridal dress and veil 
 glimmered whitely from sofas and chairs in the sala 
 adjoining her bedroom, the cases containing her 
 bridal jewels lay on the dressing-table, with the 
 delicate gloves and shoes, and her trunks stood 
 already packed in the anteroom. 
 
 " You can go now, Lucia," she said. " I will fin- 
 ish undressing myself. But first set all the doors 
 open, so that I can walk a little. I feel nervous and 
 wide-awake. A sleeping-potion ? No ; it would 
 make my eyes look heavy in the morning." 
 
 Following the maid into the sala, she listened to 
 her steps as she passed through the anteroom, then 
 locked both doors after her. She had no mind to be 
 watched that night ; and now, when the freedom of 
 married life was so near, she was all the more impa- 
 tient of the restrictions and oversight of girlhood.
 
 ORANGE-BUDS. 23 
 
 Haughty, passionate, and unscrupulous, she had 
 yet a sort of vicious nobleness, and scorned the 
 pettinesses of her life as heartily as she scorned its 
 duties. She was marrying for freedom. Her family 
 had selected her husband, and she had accepted him 
 willingly. He was rather a weak youth, and only a 
 count ; but he was rich, and he opened a new life for 
 her. She gave very little thought to him, indeed, 
 except the contemptuous one that his authority was 
 not likely to give her much annoyance. Her mind 
 was occupied with a future in which he played a 
 subordinate part. And yet this future, now that it 
 was near enough to be read, did not satisfy her. Of 
 uncultivated intellect, neither literature nor art of- 
 fered itself to fill the great space outside her girl- 
 ish life. Feminine occupations she cared little for. 
 Nature delighted her only to the extent of an un- 
 intelligent pleasure in beautiful scenes. The most 
 beautiful landscape had but one word to say to her. 
 Of the infinite volumes it contained she knew noth- 
 ing and cared nothing. She required a magnificent 
 landscape about her palace or villa, as she required 
 fine furniture in her rooms, and thought no more of 
 one than of the other. Excitement, stirring scenes, pag- 
 eants, and power, these were her aspirations. She 
 felt in herself the struggle of energies impatient to be 
 employed, without possessing the natural piety which 
 might have directed them to noble work. She was 
 supremely egotistic, and wished to enjoy life fully, 
 and to be not only a law to herself, but a law to 
 others. Yet now, looking at that near future which 
 had promised so much when it was vague and dis- 
 tant, she could define nothing but a continuation of 
 pettinesses indefinitely multiplied, the same con- 
 versations, made up of gossip and scandal ; the same 
 vapid receptions, in which the sole ambition possi- 
 ble was to have the most beautiful toilet and receive
 
 24 BY THE TIBER. 
 
 the most compliments ; the same monotonous drives 
 through familiar scenes ; and a church function now 
 and then to dawdle through with the usual carelessly 
 performed affectation of devotion. 
 
 The palace was quite still. All had retired early, 
 in preparation for the morning. Every door and 
 shutter was closed and bolted. Adelaide walked 
 restlessly to and fro from the anteroom to the 
 boudoir opening into the loggia, her tall figure in itss 
 flowing white dress looking spirit-like in the dim 
 rooms, lighted only by two candles from the bedroom. 
 After a little while she extinguished these, and softly 
 opened one of the western windows overlooking the 
 city. The moon was in the south, and its beams 
 shot by without entering the room. All the city was 
 flooded with a melancholy splendor, and the moun- 
 tains on the horizon lay like a sleeping caravan of 
 gigantic camels with huge shapes sunk into outlines 
 that seemed to stir with the soft breathing of deep 
 repose. Beside her, as she leaned from the window, 
 were heads of carven stone that caught the light 
 along their cold, unconscious brows. 
 
 Adelaide leaned farther out, and the quiet moon- 
 beams suddenly felt an unquiet soul thrust among 
 them, and trembled on that hair and forehead, fever- 
 ish and palpitating with life. She gazed over the 
 city with gleaming eyes. It was the first time that 
 she had ever seen it in silence and solitude like this, 
 the first time in all her life that she had ever opened 
 her window at night, and the situation had for her 
 something of the zest of an adventure. 
 
 Presently a company of contadini came up the 
 street on their way out of the city. One of them 
 played a mandolin, and they all walked silently to 
 the music. 
 
 Adelaide drew quickly back, and closed the window 
 and the shutters. An open window with a lady in it
 
 ORANGE-BUDS. 25 
 
 would have been a strange sight at that hour of night. 
 Irritated still more then at being so cramped, she 
 crossed the room, opened one of the garden windows, 
 and looked out on a scene of enchantment. The 
 fountains fell with a foamy plash, the paths were 
 paved with mother-of-pearl, the illuminated trees 
 and shrubs rained a silvery light onto the turf, and 
 the deep shadows were as soft as clouds. Now and 
 then a faint breeze came in from the mountains, 
 spent with its long journey, put the heavy odors 
 aside like a curtain, and swooned away among the 
 roses. Up against the sky on every side was reared 
 the garden wall, with its vases full of long, pointed 
 aloe-leaves, like swords guarding this paradise. 
 
 Leaning from the window, Adelaide met that soft 
 rush of sound which is the silence of nature : the 
 touch of leaf to leaf, the stirring of a bird in its nest, 
 the fluttering down, all at once, of a cloud of flower- 
 petals, the farming of a moth's wing, the gathering of 
 cool mists into dew, and the falling of the dewdrop, 
 the rustling of the petals of a ripe rosebud which in 
 the morning will be a rose, the murmur of multitu- 
 dinous growth ; and, above all, that indefinite con- 
 sciousness of harmonies too grand for the ear to gather 
 which is felt when the soul strains upward and out- 
 ward from the tethers of the body, and knows that 
 the stars are singing. For they sing ! No ship that 
 sails but makes its song upon the water ; no wave 
 comes up the shore without its silken murmur; no 
 bird nor bee that flies but the air hums or rustles 
 against its wings. And shall the swift worlds be 
 mute ? They sing, they sing ! 
 
 The Donna Adelaide did not think of the music 
 of the spheres ; but she felt some influence which 
 made walls and a roof intolerable. Wrapping herself 
 hastily in a black mantle, and drawing the hood over 
 her head, she opened one of the long windows of the
 
 26 BY THE TIBER. 
 
 loggia, and slipped silently down the stair and into 
 the garden. She wandered through the flowery alleys, 
 now bathed in a white light that ran glistening over 
 her silken domino, now hidden in the shades, a 
 blacker shadow. There was no danger here of obser- 
 vation. The palace was barred like a prison, the 
 casuccia was not inhabited, and the gardener's house 
 she walked in that direction to make sure that its 
 windows were blind. Yet, after all, she would not 
 have cared if Vittorio had seen her, she thought. 
 He was not like any one else. He was the only per- 
 son she knew who never annoyed her. Besides, he 
 adored her, and his adoration pleased her. The 
 Count Belvedere, her husband of to-morrow, was 
 fiacco even in his devotion to her; and she liked the 
 strong taste of life. 
 
 She sauntered on, thinking idly of Vittorio, since 
 she must think of something. He was the only thing 
 new in her life. Everything else was stale. She 
 liked his disdainful ways, his daintinesses, his severe 
 silence, and the rare smile that came only when a 
 flower pleased him. " It is a pity the Monteforte 
 would not own him, instead of the imbecile they 
 took," she thought. " One can see that he belongs to 
 them; and the proofs they did not find, they could 
 have made. I could then have married him, and 
 been a duchess." 
 
 She reached the eastern extremity of the garden, 
 and, pausing in a thicket of oleanders, saw through 
 the flowers Vittorio's windows wide open. The moon- 
 light lay whitely on the ledge of the wide casement, 
 and a faint golden light stole out to meet it from a 
 little lamp burning before a Madonna. There was 
 no other light, and no sign of life. On the outer wall 
 hung a mantle of jasmine full of little white stars 
 that shone shyly back to the moon. 
 
 " He is imprudent to sleep with his windows 
 open," the. lady thought, walking on.
 
 ORANGE-BUDS. 27 
 
 Close beside the rose-thickets of her apartment 
 was a group of pines standing in a circle, like a round 
 temple, of which the trunks were the pillars, and 
 the crowded green umbrellas they held aloft, the roof. 
 In the midst of these trees was a round marble 
 pedestal, from which a slender column of water shot 
 far up into the pine-scented dusk of the green roof, 
 and fell in spray on the daisied turf. This was the 
 fountain and grove of Undine. Seen from without, 
 it might have been a water-nymph dancing there. 
 The pedestal and the falling spray sparkled in the 
 light ; but all above was in a deep shadow, through 
 which a dim and tremulous whiteness outlined the 
 drapery of an invisible form. 
 
 As Adelaide paused beside one of the trees, she 
 heard a long, deep sigh, the sigh of one who sleeps, 
 and mourns in sleeping. 
 
 Startled, she drew her mantle closer, and stepped 
 farther into the shade. There lay Vittorio asleep, 
 one arm bent under his head, the other thrown out 
 into the light, which it seemed to grasp with an 
 upturned palm. So Endymion might have slept, and 
 in his dream have grasped the shining vesture of 
 Diana. 
 
 " Was ever any other human creature so beautiful ? " 
 murmured Adelaide, bending to look at him. " He 
 is like a fairy prince I " 
 
 As she bent there, smiling into his sleeping face, a 
 nightingale burst into sudden song among the roses. 
 
 Vittorio stirred, raised himself on to his elbow, 
 and listened, his face turned toward the palace. The 
 song wavered and ceased, and as it fell into silence, 
 a single word broke from his lips. " Adelaide ! " he 
 exclaimed, and stretched his arms out toward her 
 windows. Then, moved by some seeing instinct, he 
 turned and saw standing there beside the fountain a 
 slender form all in black.
 
 28 BY THE TIBER. 
 
 He rose to his feet, silent and breathless ; and at 
 the same moment, with a silken rustling like that 
 of the falling waters, the sharp blackness parted and 
 slipped to the ground, revealing a white shape with 
 swan's-down bordered folds sweeping the daisies : 
 Undine stepped from her pedestal ! 
 
 " Vittorio ! " said Undine. 
 
 He breathed again, and in that breath cast himself 
 at her feet. 
 
 " Why are you here, Vittorio ? " asked the Donna 
 Adelaide gently. 
 
 " Forgive me ! " he exclaimed. " I could not stay 
 in the house. I have not slept for a week. To-mor- 
 row you will be a bride ! " 
 
 " Yes," she replied quietly. " And I want to see 
 my wreath. You would not show it to Lucia. Show 
 it to me now." 
 
 His passion recalled her wavering fancy, and her 
 quiet confounded him. He dropped his face forward 
 into the dewy grass at her feet. " I am but your 
 servant ! " he groaned out. " Even here and now, out- 
 side the cruel world you live in, I am but your ser- 
 vant ! " 
 
 " You are Vittorio ! " she replied, with in voluntary- 
 emphasis and significance ; then added hastily, " bring 
 me the wreath." 
 
 He looked up into her face, then rose to do her 
 bidding. 
 
 The wreath lay above the fountain where he had 
 placed it that evening, safe and fresh. Nothing could 
 reach it there, unless a bird should dash through the 
 spray to peck its sweet waxen buds. 
 
 Adelaide stepped quite out into the moonlight as 
 Vittorio came back. "How beautiful! " she exclaimed. 
 " But is it long enough ? Tiy it on my head." 
 
 She bent before him, and he, as in a dream, laid 
 the wreath on her head.
 
 ORANGE-BUDS. 29 
 
 " It fits me perfectly," she said, and stood erect 
 and crowned, looking at him with her steady eyes. 
 " Yet I did not give you a measure." 
 
 " I measured the Diana," he said, and glanced at a 
 statue that shone out from the laurels. 
 
 " You tried my wreath on her head ! " 
 
 " No ; I would not allow the wreath to touch any 
 head but yours. But I measured that, and allowed 
 for the soul." 
 
 She smiled, still looking at him steadily. "You 
 think that a soul would expand the brain, then ? " 
 
 " Naturally," he replied. 
 
 " And if you measured the Diana for my girdle, 
 you would allow for a heart ? " she asked. 
 
 " No ; I should make the girdle shorter." 
 
 " Why ? " she asked wonderingly. 
 
 " The goddesses of this world have no hearts," said 
 Vittorio. " But Diana's heart was strong. It beat 
 her side out full with love. She did not marry a 
 count for his money and his name ; she loved a 
 shepherd." 
 
 Vittorio's bitterness prevented the Donna Adelaide 
 being overwhelmed by her imagination, though it 
 could not prevent her being fascinated. It was at 
 variance with the soft enchantment of the scene, and 
 kept her obligations in her memory. After a mo- 
 ment's silence she bent her head again, and bade him 
 take off' her wreath. 
 
 fie removed it with trembling care, and had turned 
 away to replace it, when she spoke again. 
 
 " Felicissima notte, Vittorio. Go home, and shut 
 your windows, as I am going to do. To-morrow I 
 leave Rome for the country, and I wish to find you 
 alive and well when I return, as I shall not if you 
 breathe the night air in this reckless way. We shall 
 meet again. Addio ! " 
 
 She went swiftly away, and a moment later he 
 heard her window close.
 
 30 BY THE TIBER. 
 
 " We shall meet again." The words fell like balm 
 on his bruised spirit. He did not ask what they 
 might mean. He only welcomed them. 
 
 The next morning, wheii Lucia brought the bridal 
 wreath, her mistress saw that it was made of flowers, 
 not of buds. She smiled, but said nothing. 
 
 With the wedding and the summer visits of the 
 Contessa Belvedere we have nothing to do. Early in 
 October they returned to the palace again. They 
 arrived in time for breakfast, after which they had 
 coffee in the garden. Then, one by one, the company 
 dropped away to rest before the afternoon drive. 
 
 The Countess seemed to have gone in ; but in fact 
 she only pretended to go, returning swiftly among the 
 screening shrubs to a little nook hedged in by orange- 
 trees, where a passion-vine hung along the wall. 
 Here Vittorio bent with one knee on the ground, 
 while he pretended to disentangle a broken branch. 
 He had been watching the newly married couple 
 through the trees, and his brows were black with 
 anger. He scarcely glanced up as the lady swept 
 toward him, her silken skirts rustling on the grass in 
 long purple folds. 
 
 " You here, Vittorio ? " she said, with a light affec- 
 tation of surprise. " I have come for some passion- 
 flowers." 
 
 " It is a pity to break them," he said gloomily ; 
 "and roses would suit you better. You might as 
 well wear a crucifix at a ball as put a passion-flower 
 in your bosom when you are gay." 
 
 " They suit me, and I want them," she replied. 
 
 He began reluctantly to break the flowers. " With- 
 in an hour you will throw them away, or worse," he 
 said. 
 
 " Perhaps not," she returned, without a sign of 
 displeasure. " But what could be worse than throw- 
 ing them away ? "
 
 ORANGE-BUDS. 31 
 
 " Giving them to Count Belvedere," he answered. 
 
 She laughed softly, and put the flowers he gave 
 her into her bosom. " Why should you object to 
 that ? " 
 
 " Because I hate him ! " said Vittorio, and, turning 
 away, knelt down to his work again. 
 
 The Count's voice was heard calling his wife. He 
 never allowed her to be long out of his sight. 
 
 Adelaide bent quickly toward Vittorio, and laid 
 her hand on his shoulder. " I hate him more than 
 you can do," she whispered. " And now stay where 
 you are a little while, that he may not know you 
 were here." 
 
 Before he could catch her hand, it was withdrawn, 
 and she ran away, checking her pace when she 
 came in sight of the palace windows, and arranging 
 the flowers in the white laces on her bosom as she 
 went. 
 
 "I went to get some passion-flowers," she said, 
 smiling at her husband as he came to meet her. 
 And, putting her hand in his arm, she drew him in- 
 doors. 
 
 Poor Vittorio ! that his goddess was but a light 
 woman, he might suspect ; but he was far from 
 imagining that he was but one of her many ca- 
 prices, and that all the baffled energies of her nature 
 were flowing toward the one open channel of in- 
 trigue. If she sank from the starry heights on which 
 his fancy had placed her, the skies, for him, sank 
 with her, and she was still the highest and best he 
 knew. 
 
 He stood there in a tumult of emotion that de- 
 stroyed all thought, till a slight sound near aroused 
 him. A mandarin orange had dropped from one of 
 the branches against the wall, where they grew beside 
 the large, sorrowful stars of the passion-flower. 
 
 Vittorio absently stooped for the fruit, and put it
 
 32 BY THE TIBER. 
 
 to his lips ; but instead of a delicate fresh sweetness, 
 his mouth was scorched by an intense strength of 
 rind and pulp where all perfumes of fruit and flower 
 seemed to have been concentrated. 
 
 He cast it away, washed his mouth in a fountain 
 near by, and, stealing along by the wall, went into 
 his own house. 
 
 CHAPTEE VI. 
 
 APPLE-BLOSSOMS. 
 
 WHILE the golden mandarini were dropping 
 through Italian odors to burn the lips of the 
 rejected scion of a coroneted race, far away across the 
 ocean, a daughter of the North stood dreaming in a 
 sunlight as rich, if more tempered, with ducal straw- 
 berry-leaves crushed beneath her republican feet, and 
 heard a crimson apple fall from a laden tree to the 
 bright turf below. Primeval forests swept over the 
 hills, luxuriantly dark, and full of mystery ; purple 
 mountains propped a purple sky, in which were other 
 mountains of more than snowy whiteness, whole 
 alpine ranges, with avalanches of mist-entangled sun- 
 shine, and dazzling angles of airy glaciers. Between 
 forest and mountain a broad river wound dreamily 
 to and fro, and ever onward. Wherever a leaf was 
 seen, there October had laid its rainbow coloring ; and, 
 swathing the mountains, filming the nearer hills, and 
 filtered through the forests, lay the slumbrous richness 
 of the autumn haze. 
 
 The only sign of human life visible was in the 
 tall and slender figure of Valeria Ellsworth moving 
 slowly down the fruit-scented orchard to a vine-hung 
 cottage near the highway. Her last October dream in
 
 APPLE-BLOSSOMS. 83 
 
 her native land was ended. It was time to go. The 
 carriage was at the door, and the trunks were on the 
 steps. Through the sounding forest, like an arrow 
 through the heart of solitude, the coming train was 
 rushing to its station in the near valley ; and beyond 
 the mountains lay the seaside town from which on 
 the morrow a steamer would bear her across the 
 ocean to the scene of ideal lives. 
 
 Valeria was alone in the world and without a home, 
 and her fortunes were all bound inside her closely 
 crushed curls of brown hair. She had chosen her life 
 to be single and artistic, chosen not with laborious 
 reasoning, but with a swift instinct of what was best 
 fitted for her. The pros and cons had all been 
 weighed, not consciously, perhaps, but in the long, 
 slow balance of experience. For her early youth 
 was passed. She was now thirty-five years old. 
 Her first need was a home quite her own, as much 
 her own as the shell is the home of the nut. Some 
 people have a certain outward insensibility or positive- 
 ness which makes promiscuous social intercourse tol- 
 erable and even pleasant, and dulls the contact with 
 alien substances ; but she was so sensitively strung 
 that the outer personality of a protecting and harmo- 
 nious privacy was an absolute necessity. Without it, 
 all that she was was worse than lost. This home was 
 not possible to her in her native land, but might be 
 possible in another. 
 
 The last good-byes were said, and she turned away 
 from the door. The vine-draped cottage went all 
 into crooked lines as she looked back ; the fences fell, 
 the trees were blurred, the whole place was ruined in 
 her tears. 
 
 How beautiful was her native land, with its winters, 
 which she was leaving ! How fine were those storms, 
 thick with snow-flakes and snow-birds, where the 
 drifts reveal the ways of the wind as it tears a tall
 
 34 BY THE TIBER. 
 
 tree up by the roots as with one hand, and with the 
 other fashions a frail snow-anemone that a human 
 breath would break, but that the blasts of air swerve 
 out of their courses to spare, as it hangs trembling 
 in fairy beauty, the pet and nursling of the whirl- 
 winds ! 
 
 How nobly stirring was that fearless outcry of in- 
 dignation over wrong, that fearless searching out of 
 iniquity, that confident breasting of any height that 
 the world can raise, that bold curiosity which is the 
 base of all knowledge ! Atalanta, thou swift runner 
 among nations, stumbling a little over the golden 
 apples, but overtaken only by love ! " A soul femi- 
 nine saluteth thee " across the seas ! 
 
 "Will the Olympians give me anything in ex- 
 change ? " the traveller asked ; and answered herself, 
 " Yes, if they give me four walls of iny own to shield 
 me from, the world, and my own roof for a balda- 
 chino." 
 
 After a few hours came the final parting, and then 
 the awful hour when, for the first time to her, all the 
 world went down behind the sea. 
 
 But Nature is as unwearied in her wiles as she is 
 inexhaustible in her treasures. The transparent high- 
 way down which the light sank in green and blue, 
 the foam that ran under the water to show its milky 
 beryl, the waves that beckoned like sirens from many 
 an unstable mimic island, all that life in which, while 
 most reposing, they were yet as unresting as their 
 own beating hearts, it was first a distraction, and 
 then a delight. Then London, which she found and 
 left in a November fog ; then Paris, the bonbonni&re of 
 the world ; and still onward, till there rose a certain 
 height with a cross set upon it; and, "I think I 
 climbed there and set that cross," Valeria said to 
 her travelling companion. " And I must have played 
 here in some sunny, forgotten childhood."
 
 CASA PASSARINA. 35 
 
 Then, one after another, the towns which so disap- 
 point arid . so satisfy at once, the satisfaction deep, 
 the disappointment superficial. " I know now," said 
 Valeria, "why everybody loves Italy, and feels at 
 home in it: it is because it is like ourselves, a 
 mingling of splendors and miseries. Mrs. Browning 
 calls it the ' land of souls.' It is the land of souls in 
 bodies." 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 CASA PASSARINA. 
 
 VALERIA accompanied Mrs. Grey, her travelling 
 companion, to a large boarding-house where 
 that lady always stopped when in Rome. Casa Passa- 
 rina occupied the second floors, or, more properly, the 
 secondi piani, of three houses all thrown into one 
 apartment, which had its ups and downs of high 
 rooms for high prices and low rooms for moderate 
 ones. The centre of the house, comprising dining- 
 room, drawing-room, and boudoir, was common prop- 
 erty. The eastern end of the long apartment had a 
 number of comfortable low bedrooms, which were 
 called sunny, because on clear mornings the sun 
 looked into them for half an hour out of the corner 
 of hts eye ; and the western end contained some 
 rather showy chambers, and two small suites occu- 
 pied by two of the ladies. 
 
 The American boarders divided the house into up 
 and down town ; the English, into West End and 
 City ; and all were pleased with their lodgings 
 wherever they might be situated. For the house 
 was thoroughly well kept, and the landlady, the 
 Widow Passarina, a treasure of her kind. She was a
 
 36 BY THE TIBER. 
 
 large, pleasant-faced woman between fifty and sixty 
 years of age, gracefully cordial in manners, and full 
 of life and tact. She assumed that all the mem- 
 bers of her family, as she called it, were devotedly 
 fond of each other, and wished infinite good to herself; 
 she knew how to sympathize with the present plain- 
 tiff without saying anything against the absent 
 defendant, and had such a pleading manner of ad- 
 monishing a quarrelsome or insolent person that she 
 seemed to be imploring the grace of a benignant 
 sovereign. 
 
 The family gave her something to do, indeed, in 
 the way of peace-making ; for it comprised members 
 from the four quarters of the earth. There were 
 Americans and English, pretending to like each other 
 immensely, but missing no opportunity to give each 
 other a little wholesome correction ; there were Ger- 
 mans, hated up by French and 'down by Danes and 
 diagonally by various other nations ; and there was 
 an Irishman who loved everybody so much, himself 
 first of all, that everybody in turn was angry with 
 him. 
 
 But these enmities were, after all, chiefly geographi- 
 cal, and did not prevent a good deal of pleasant talk 
 and some kind feeling between the belligerents ; the 
 more so that there were other differences, more near 
 and bitter than national ones, which formed new 
 angles of opinion and new alliances. National foes 
 could forget their cicatrized wounds for the moment, 
 and meet half-way to resent the bleeding wounds of 
 a newer warfare. 
 
 " Saxon and Norman and Dane, though we be. 
 We are each all Dane " 
 
 in the papal or anti-papal cause. 
 
 It must be owned that this combat was not con- 
 ducted on either side with a very admirable dignity.
 
 CASA PASSARINA. 37 
 
 It consisted chiefly of what we may figuratively call 
 kicks and pinches and twits, and small triumphs 
 celebrated after the manner of the " cock that crows 
 in the morn," rather than of the swift sabre-thrust 
 that leaves a saddle empty, or the fine artillery- 
 thunder that opens a new red river-bed through the 
 solid ranks of the foe. It was, however, a copy in 
 small of the social state of Home at that time, which 
 suggested the idea of two armies drawn up face to 
 face, each one trembling in its shoes, and whispering 
 in its ranks the most injurious things of the other. 
 
 How the great actors in the drama liked their 
 chorus, or if they gave it a thought, would be 
 hard to guess. It is doubtful if either Prometheus 
 or Jove would have felt himself greatly helped or 
 honored on seeing a lady partisan, with a fly-away 
 bonnet miraculously sustained on a chignon which 
 projected it quite beyond the outline of the skull, 
 and a nose very much in the air at the other ex- 
 tremity of the head, refuse haughtily to partake of 
 refreshment at a reception where her rival Titaness 
 or Olyinpianess was admitted. It might have been 
 considered wiser by some had she smilingly accepted 
 a seat at the table, and with it the opportunity to 
 poison her opponent in a cup of tea. 
 
 At the earnest prayer of the Signora Passarina, the 
 subject of the Pope and the Italian kingdom was 
 partially avoided in open discussion ; but the bianchi 
 and the neri showed their colors, notwithstanding. 
 The nere liked to wear yellow ribbons upon occasion, 
 and to come rustling in to breakfast in the papal 
 court toilet, to show that they were just from the 
 Vatican, and they had a way of leaving the Voce ddla 
 Verita newspapers about, of reckoning time by festa 
 days instead of days of the month, and the hours 
 of the day from Am Maria, which left no doubt as 
 to their opinions. The position of a new-comer might
 
 38 BY THE TIBER. 
 
 always be guessed by observing how she would reply 
 to a question as to the time of day. On their side, 
 the bianchi opposed the tricolor to the yellow, the 
 Liberia to the Voce, the Venti Settembre to the 
 dieciotto Giugno, and the smile of the conqueror to 
 the bile of the conquered. 
 
 In short, human nature on one side did precisely 
 what human nature on the other side would have 
 done, had their positions been reversed ; and that 
 one of these parties did not leave the house, or chase 
 the other away, was due to the fact that there was an 
 element of justice and common-sense in each which 
 knew how to soften the asperities of that partisan- 
 ship which was only a conviction of the passions. 
 Mr. O'Hara, a cameriere segreto of the Pope, took 
 pains to be very polite to Captain Marini of the 
 king's guards when the latter came to see Miss Lilian 
 Marshall ; and the Signora Passarina, whose liberal- 
 ism was whispered to be without bounds, almost 
 went on her knees to every Monsignore who crossed 
 her threshold. Others helped ; and, thanks to the 
 multiplicity of these conflicting influences, the modi- 
 cum of harmony necessary to preserve the community 
 was saved from destruction. 
 
 When our two travellers arrived at Casa Passariua, 
 early on a bright November morning, Mrs. Grey asked 
 to be shown the rooms already engaged for them. 
 
 " Your old rooms were taken," the Passarina said. 
 " But there are still better." 
 
 Valeria, who had listened to Mrs. Grey's glowing 
 descriptions on the way, looked with astonishment at 
 these chambers, and asked herself if she was to live 
 in an old curiosity shop. In the hurry and excite- 
 ment of travel she had scarcely glanced at any of the 
 rooms she had occupied since leaving her own beauti- 
 ful American chamber, with its plate-glass windows 
 that went up or down at a touch, and stopped where
 
 CASA PASSARINA. 39 
 
 they were bid, its hot and cold water, ever ready at 
 the bright faucets, and, above all, its obvious and un- 
 mistakable cleanliness. 
 
 " I dare say you may feel disappointed at first, since 
 you have been brought up on fresh paint," Mrs. Grey 
 said ; " but you will be delighted by and by. Passa- 
 rina bought this furniture at sales and in out-of-the- 
 way places before people had fairly waked up to the 
 value of old things ; and now you could scarcely get 
 such stuff for money." 
 
 " I should hope not ! " said Valeria, and pointed to 
 a little skeleton-iron stand on which rested an object 
 which she had not beheld since her childish days, 
 a white delf basin and pitcher, both a little chipped 
 and slightly leaning to one side, the pitcher capable 
 of holding two quarts. 
 
 Mrs. Grey calmly poured water into the basin. "I 
 presume," she remarked, " that you did not expect to 
 live in an old Roman house, and have the Mississippi 
 or the Connecticut or was it the Penobscot ? now 
 through your dressing-room." 
 
 "O foam-bells of Arethusa!" ejaculated Valeria, 
 sotto voce, gazing at the chipped pitcher. " O spirits 
 of the vasty deep ! O shades of Diocletian and Cara- 
 calla But I want you to understand," she said, 
 with a sudden turn, " that American rivers are not to 
 be sneered at even in Rome." 
 
 From the depths of a large fringed towel in which 
 Mrs. Grey's face was being dried, issued a few half- 
 stifled bars of " Hail Columbia." 
 
 Valeria looked about her. " I will own," she said 
 presently, " that those spindle-legged, intarsio bu- 
 reaus have an air of prim gentility, like proper ancient 
 maidens who wear the most heavenly old laces over 
 their flat, narrow gowns; and the chairs that stand 
 on hoofs or claws bring certain quaint mythological 
 stories to mind. There is a large red-leather three-
 
 40 BY THE TIBER. 
 
 legged chair on hoofs that I am going to take into 
 my own room at once. How many charming people 
 must have sat in this chair ! I will add one to their 
 number," seating herself. " The bedsteads are brass. 
 They could n't be better unless they were silver or 
 gold. And will you look at that altogether too lovely 
 lamp ! Italy is the land of beautiful lamps. We 
 shall find Aladdin's here some day. And, Mrs. 
 Grey, will you see what she has given you for a 
 paper-weight, and what I am going to take away 
 from you instantly ? It is a fragment of cipollino 
 from some ancient pilaster, fluted on one side, the 
 fresh fractures all glittering green and silver. It is 
 probably a petrified bit of one of the four rivers of 
 Paradise." 
 
 " Would n't you like to exchange rooms with me ? " 
 Mrs. Grey asked, viewing these depredations with a 
 wondering smile ; for Valeria had carried the chair to 
 the door of her own room, and laid the paper-weight 
 on the cushion of it, preparatory to walking them 
 both quite away. 
 
 " Oh, no, thank you ! I prefer my own. Besides, it 
 will be so pleasant to see the sweetness with which 
 you are going to allow me to take all the loveliest 
 things out of your chamber, and give you in exchange 
 all the ugliest things in mine. And you know per- 
 fectly well that you would rather have a neat, respect- 
 able little bronze lizard than this broken bit of cipol- 
 lino, which you would have called rubbish if I had 
 not told you that it is beautiful. It would be still 
 more beautiful with a fresh, fragrant pink laid on 
 it. How I love pinks ! Did you see the little St. 
 John's bouquet that Lombardi painted for me last 
 year when he was here, a bunch of pinks set round 
 with lavender, the long, long stems bound around 
 with a bright golden straw gathered from a newly 
 cut wheat-field ? It was a sonnet in color. You
 
 CASA PASSARINA. 41 
 
 shall have my lizard. Here he is. See what a 
 society air he has ! Does n't he look like a nice, 
 slim young man in a tailcoat ? If you could turn 
 him over, you would find a little starched white 
 cravat all properly tied. You shall have my pretty 
 blue chintz arm-chair, too. It will just suit you. 
 You were made for chintz. And you can sit con- 
 tentedly in a blue chair. I cannot. It is like sitting 
 on the sky. Even the gods and goddesses had the 
 grace to put a cloud under them when they sat down. 
 There should be sumptuary laws for the use of 
 blue." 
 
 " Are you insane, my dear ? " exclaimed Mrs. Grey 
 mildly, looking at her back hair in a hand-glass. 
 
 " Perfectly ! " responded Valeria. " But don't be 
 alarmed. My insanity is not catching." 
 
 " I never heard you rattle on so before," the lady 
 said plaintively. 
 
 " Because you never before saw me on a festa day 
 that calls out all my population. There are gamins 
 in my city. It is n't half a dull town when the 
 people are wide awake." 
 
 Mrs. Grey resignedly gave herself little soft dabs 
 of pearl-powder. Valeria carried away her spoil, 
 came back, stood looking out into the street for a 
 moment, then went arid kissed her companion on" 
 both cheeks. 
 
 " It is the first time you have ever kissed me," 
 Mrs. Grey said beamingly. She liked all her lady 
 friends to kiss her. 
 
 " It is not at all a personal kiss, you know," 
 Valeria explained. " It means that I am so over- 
 flowing with contentment just at this moment that 
 I must kiss some one. I am glad that your soft, 
 sweet, though somewhat powdery cheeks happen to 
 be in the way. Half the kisses we give, you know, 
 and the best half, are not meant for the persons who
 
 42 BY THE TIBER. 
 
 receive them. A great part are meant for the per- 
 sons who give them." 
 
 " I assure you that I am not so hypocritical," Mrs. 
 Grey said disapprovingly. 
 
 " It is not hypocrisy," was the quick reply. 
 
 " And why not, pray ? " 
 
 " I 've forgotten why. When you have your con- 
 clusion, the premises go to the rag-bag. It is 
 annoying to keep a great rubbish of whys and 
 wherefores about one's mind. But the conclusion 
 is correct. Oh ! you need not look so incredulous 
 and superior. I know my conclusions from my 
 impressions by the feel of them, as quickly as I 
 know the touch of a crystal from the touch of a 
 flower. If you had piled up a mountain in order to 
 get a mouse out of it, would n't you recognize .that 
 mouse instantly as an elaborated animal every time 
 it caught your eyes, even though you might have 
 mislaid the mountain ? " 
 
 Mrs. Grey looked at her companion, stretched her 
 mind to its utmost, and grasped her. 
 
 " You will forgive me if I say that you are the 
 least in the world like a carpet-bagger," she said. 
 " I never saw any one who had such a hatred of what 
 she considers unnecessary possessions, or who travels 
 through life, both physically and mentally, in such 
 light marching order." 
 
 Valeria reciprocated the look. What an odd way 
 some people have of making those personal remarks ! 
 she thought, They are constantly calling one's 
 attention to one's self. Yet I seldom criticise them, 
 though it would be easy to do so. They must be 
 taught better. But how ? Probably by destroying 
 their self-complacency. " I wonder," she said aloud, 
 " that you could not have found a finer comparison 
 than a carpet-bagger. Out of civility, I could think 
 of a thousand fine things to say to you which you do 
 not in the least merit."
 
 CASA PASSARINA. 43 
 
 " No ; the only fine thing I could have thought of 
 would have been the troubadour with his pack and 
 his lute," Mrs. Grey said. 
 
 There was a moment of silence, thoughtful and 
 secretly pained on one side, watchful and complacent 
 on the other. Then Valeria went toward her own 
 room, singing softly as she went, 
 
 " Senza terra, e senza tetto, 
 Di valsente sprovveduto, 
 Va ramingo il poveretto 
 Col tardello e col liuto. 
 II liuto ed il fardello 
 Non toccar del menestrello." 
 
 Having passed the door, still singing, she closed it 
 behind her. Then, sinking into her red-leather, three- 
 legged, antelope-hoofed chair, and dismissing two large 
 tears with her benediction, she set herself to study- 
 ing out what wind and weather of life, and chymistry 
 of human nature had formed that thought, that the 
 apparent object of almost every human affection is 
 but the feather to an arrow which has elsewhere its 
 mark. 
 
 She had scarcely begun that most delightful of 
 wild Diana hunts, the chase of an idea, with the 
 fluttering garments of a hundred fanciful nymphs on 
 the wind, and the silvery glad baying of the hounds 
 of the seven senses, now one catching the scent, now 
 another, and the whizzing of arrowy thoughts, all 
 sweeping along in that speed and life of upper air 
 which makes one smile unconsciously, when the door 
 of her room opened and Mrs. Grey appeared. 
 
 " Pray don't stay here moping all alone," she said. 
 " Come out and be introduced to some of the ladies." 
 Then seeing the only half-comprehending face that 
 Valeria turned upon her, she added, " What are you 
 laughing at ? " 
 
 "Nothing," replied Valeria.
 
 44 BY THE TIBER. 
 
 There were several ladies in the house who had 
 known Mrs. Grey on her former visits to Rome, and 
 they came to welcome her back. She was one of 
 those persons, tanto buono che non val niente, who 
 never have enemies. People forgot all about her when 
 she disappeared ; and when she came back, saw her 
 with something of that pleased surprise we feel on 
 perceiving an unappropriated cushion at the other end 
 of the long, hard bench on which we have been 
 sitting. 
 
 The first visitor was Miss Chaplin, a maiden lady 
 of fifty- five. Catholic maiden ladies of a certain age 
 go to Rome as the sparks fly upward. Miss Chaplin 
 was tall, pale, gentle, and slow of speech, and had an 
 air of grace and but half-faded beauty hanging about 
 her like a veil. 
 
 " Miss Ellsworth is a convert, and quite as devoted 
 as you are," Mrs. Grey said in introducing the two to 
 each other. 
 
 Miss Chaplin looked at Valeria with her sweet, pale 
 smile, then bent and kissed her, holding her hand a 
 moment while sitting beside her. 
 
 Mrs. Cariui was another visitor, a dreadful little 
 woman, puffing with spirit and enthusiasm, and a de- 
 sire to know everything and tell everything, never 
 letting any one complete a sentence unless he had 
 strength of lungs to shout her dow r n. After half an 
 hour's verbal combat with this lady, one could not 
 help wishing that the engineer who ran that machine 
 would come. She told and asked the news, directed 
 everybody what to do, pronounced upon everything, 
 and made herself so annoying even where she wished 
 to please, that it was a pity. 
 
 "Miss Croino hasn't come back yet," she said. 
 " She is later than usual this year. She went to 
 Switzerland and from there to Paris, where she is buy- 
 ing her winter things. She expects to come back in
 
 CASA PASSARINA. 45 
 
 a week or two, and I am quite impatient ; for I want 
 to see how her dresses are made." 
 
 Others came in, and Miss Chaplin and Valeria re- 
 tired to a window to talk over a subject most inter- 
 esting to them both. This was but two or three years 
 after that 20th of September which gave Rome to 
 Italy, and party feeling still ran high. The one side 
 watched jealously to preserve its as yet unsteady foot- 
 hold, and menaced whatever endangered it ; the other 
 listened for the tramp of allied armies that never 
 came, and believed that the echoes dying away about 
 the world were the multitudinous voices of rising 
 nations. They could not believe that the old thunder- 
 ous music of the centuries was a song that is sung, 
 and that there should survive of it only the sigh that 
 trembles along the heart-strings of the penitent, and 
 the canticle of the soul which has triumphed only 
 over it-self. 
 
 Valeria was surprised to learn that she would be 
 able to practise her religion without the slightest hin- 
 derance, and that even priests could go about the 
 streets without insult. 
 
 " I have heard that it was different," she said ; " and 
 I came here almost believing that martyrdom was 
 again possible. Ever since I first thought of coming 
 to Italy, I have been haunted by a presentiment that 
 I was to suffer something peculiar in Rome from no 
 fault of my own, something relating to my religion, a 
 suffering which should be almost, or quite, to death." 
 
 " Yet you came," Miss Chaplin said. 
 
 " Oh ! that would not have prevented my coming," 
 Valeria replied seriously. " It is always ' sweet and 
 becoming ' to die for a noble cause. However," she 
 added with a smile, "as there seems to be no pres- 
 ent hope of our being thrown to the lions, we must 
 try to reconcile ourselves to being let alone is it 
 severely ? "
 
 46 BY THE TIBER. 
 
 The other visitors withdrew, leaving but one with 
 Mrs. Grey. This was a lady about forty years of age, 
 small, very quietly dressed, and very quiet of manner, 
 though she talked in her way nearly as much as Mrs. 
 Carini did. Every time she addressed Mrs. Grey, she 
 said " dear Mrs. Grey." She held by the hand a little 
 girl of six years, and from time to time she caressed 
 the child, and smiled into her sweet and serious face. 
 Her smiles were all an effort of the will, and though 
 well meant, were rather mechanical. 
 
 " You must know Miss Pendleton," Miss Chaplin 
 said to Valeria. " She is very good. She wished to 
 be a nun ; but her family made so much opposition 
 that she yielded to them. But she lives the life of a 
 nun. She lodges in a convent, and devotes her life to 
 charitable works. She is very kind to that child, who 
 is an orphan niece of Mrs. Gordon, one of the boarders 
 here. Mrs. Gordon is too much occupied with society 
 and with finding a husband for her daughter to trouble 
 herself much about the child." 
 
 Valeria had some knowledge of human nature, and 
 the rare habit of using her knowledge. She did not 
 study faces, she read them intuitively ; and never had 
 she neglected a warning given her by some face in 
 despite of itself, without repenting afterward of that 
 negligence. Most persons are as easily deceived by 
 those whom they know to be deceitful, and as blindly 
 influenced by those whom they know to be intriguing, 
 as though the alphabet of human nature were un- 
 known to them. 
 
 Miss Pendleton's face had that unpleasant contra- 
 diction of a remarkably suave manner over unmistak- 
 able indications of a strong and persistent will. The 
 will might be rightly directed ; but if wrongly directed, 
 this outward sweetness and prudence would make the 
 woman strong for evil. A frank nature resents such 
 a combination.
 
 A FAMILY MEETING. 47 
 
 Coldness has the right to be reserved ; but one does 
 not like to be caressed through a veil. 
 
 Miss Pendleton rose, and, still holding little Marie 
 by the hand, came to the window, smiling as usual, to 
 make Valeria's acquaintance. 
 
 " I wish she had not that habit of drawing her 
 mouth up tightly, as if she did not mean to let a word 
 pass without being questioned," Valeria thought. " It 
 reminds one of a prison. Perhaps she is excellent. I 
 think she is. But she is too guarded to be pleasant. 
 And I wish that she would not love me so much all 
 at once." 
 
 Little Marie performed her blushing salutations 
 with careful, but timid grace. " She is going with me 
 to a Benediction in Sant' Andrea," Miss Pendleton 
 said. 
 
 " But you have already been with me this morning 
 to a Benediction in San Carlino, little dear," Miss 
 Chaplin said to the child. " You can receive only one 
 Benediction in a day. The Lord has no more for you 
 now. It is useless for you to go." 
 
 The fair face clouded for an instant, then brightened 
 with an angelic smile. " I like to see Him bless other 
 people," said Marie. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 A FAMILY MEETING. 
 
 OUR travellers did not join the family till dinner- 
 time of the day after their arrival. Mrs. Grey 
 was employed in getting rid of a freckle, and Valeria in 
 refreshing herself after the fatigues, mental and phys- 
 ical, of their journey, with an immense sleep. After 
 nearly twenty-four hours' immersion in that sweet
 
 48 BY THE TIBER. 
 
 and all-restoring Lethe, rousing herself from time to 
 time to say, " Not yet ! not yet ! " and dreaming de- 
 liciously away into unconsciousness again, Nature 
 gave the signal of assent to returning life. " All hail 
 to my sisters Eve and Aphrodite ! " she said. " The 
 one fresh out of nothingness, as the other out of the 
 sea, and I out of sleep. Mrs. Grey, I am just half 
 an hour old." 
 
 " Your inexperienced age will, I hope, excuse our 
 being a little late to dinner," Mrs. Grey remarked. 
 
 The people at the dinner-table were very pleasant. 
 Each had a smile for the new-comers. The news of 
 the day were told ; the inevitable quarrels were decked 
 with smiles and roses, and seemed to be rather amus- 
 ing little imps. The dinner was well served, and 
 several of the ladies who were going out afterward 
 wore gay toilets. 
 
 Valeria sat between Lilian Marshall, a tall Amer- 
 ican girl with brilliant dark eyes and a wild-rose 
 color, and Mr. Clive Willis, a novelist. 
 
 The pretty coquette, who rejoiced in her beauty as 
 a butterfly in its wings, and flirted as naturally as she 
 breathed, complimented the novelist over the shoul- 
 ders of Valeria, who could not believe that the few 
 magazine stories she had written had made her fa- 
 mous, and was not quite pleased at being made ridic- 
 ulous by over-praise. 
 
 From the other side came responsive compliments, 
 of which also she was the vicarious recipient. 
 
 " Do you know what I am going to write next ? " 
 she asked at length, confidentially. 
 
 " Do tell me ! " exclaimed Lilian Marshall, not caring 
 a fig, but looking up with a glowing interest which 
 displayed her fine eyes to the greatest advantage. 
 
 " A new version of Pyramus and Thisbe," said Va- 
 leria. "The wall is to be a simple New England 
 woman, and Thisbe will have such eyes ! Pyramus
 
 A FAMILY MEETING. 49 
 
 is to be an author, and he will have " she glanced 
 at Mr. Clive Willis's head " yes, he will have curly 
 black hair." 
 
 " How charming ! " said Miss Marshall coolly, help- 
 ing herself to a bunch of golden-green, rose-clouded 
 muscatels, while the gentleman hid his blushes in a 
 wine-glass. " And do tell me who is to be the lion, 
 and if he will tear poor Thisbe into inch pieces." 
 
 "Do not imagine that he will be a soft-hearted 
 Snug, the joiner," was the stern reply. " The lion 
 will be a pretty woman ! " 
 
 Lilian gave a little cry. " Thisbe is lost ! " 
 
 " I will eat up the vile, pretty woman myself ! " 
 cried Mr. Willis, recovering from his momentary 
 abasement. 
 
 Valeria leaned backward slightly, that Lilian's 
 glance of beaming gratitude might have its full effect, 
 unimpeded by her neck-ribbon. " I had forgotten 
 that you are a lion," she said. 
 
 Refreshed and made better acquainted by this short 
 dialogue, the three pursued their dinner for a moment 
 in silence. 
 
 Mrs. Gordon, an elderly, showy woman, sat oppo- 
 site with her daughter Fanny, who was twenty years 
 old, and had a nice little head to put a bonnet on. 
 
 " I am positive that we shall every one of us ap- 
 pear in print this year," the young lady said. " It is 
 quite too dreadful. Mr. Willis is writing a novel of 
 Italian society, or society in Italy, and now we have 
 another writer." 
 
 Both writers looked at the girl. 
 
 " I will put you in print if you want me to, my 
 dear," Valeria said kindly. " It would n't take me two 
 minutes." 
 
 The girl's face shone with delight. " I will run 
 away if you do ! " she protested. 
 
 " I should not like my daughter to be made pub- 
 4
 
 50 BY THE TIBER. 
 
 lie," Mrs. Gordon said, studying doubtfully over the 
 last part of Valeria's speech, and comparing it with 
 the countenance of the speaker. 
 
 " It would be such a pity for the world to lose 
 those ears ! " Mr. Willis said, glancing at the lovely 
 pink shells with which nature had adorned the young 
 lady's head. " I promise not to paint your whole 
 portrait, Miss Fanny. I never do that for any one, 
 though I am accused of it. My portraits are compo- 
 sitions. For example, I see a woman with wonder- 
 ful hair. I take her scalp, so to speak, and throw 
 away the woman. Some stupid man, myself prob- 
 ably, misses an opportunity to say a bright thing. I 
 take the opportunity, and may I be allowed to 
 hope ? say the bright thing. It seems to me harm- 
 less." 
 
 "Your characters are frequently charming, Mr. 
 Willis," Mrs. Gordon said. " But you must excuse 
 my saying that, according to my view, you lay too 
 much stress upon good impulses, and too little on 
 good principles." 
 
 " I own," the author replied humbly, " that I pre- 
 fer good impulses acted upon, to good principles only 
 talked about." 
 
 " But," she began 
 
 " Precisely ! " he struck in, foreseeing a sermon, 
 " But allow me to make a comparison. A human 
 being, we may say, is a spirit leading a beast. The 
 principles, good or bad, are with the spirit ; the im- 
 pulses, good or bad, with the beast. Now a good 
 spirit may have a bad beast, but a bad spirit seldom, 
 if ever, has a good beast. An angel leading a lamb is 
 very fine, but unusual ; an angel conquering a tiger 
 is sublime, but also unusual. Given, then, the aver- 
 age human soul, a fallen and fettered angel, don't 
 you think that the sort of animal he has to manage 
 is a matter of importance ? Don't you think that he
 
 A FAMILY MEETING. 51 
 
 might get an occasional fall if he were mounted on a 
 wildcat or a donkey ? " 
 
 " I bet my money on the donkey ! " called out 
 Master Thomas Clouden, a dreadful American boy, 
 from the opposite end of the table. 
 
 " A propos of donkeys," began a very delicate 
 voice 
 
 " In my opinion," said Professor Wagner, in a very 
 loud tone. He had for some time been trying to 
 obtain a hearing. 
 
 Everybody looked at him. 
 
 " In my opinion," he repeated in a subdued key, 
 " there is no greater outrage than to show up a person 
 in print." 
 
 The Professor, who had lost his hair at thirty, yet 
 who wore the most beautiful blond curls at sixty, 
 had figured in a recent story as Professor Wignor. 
 
 " Dante showed up people," Mr. Willis said. 
 
 The German, being an enthusiastic Dantean scholar, 
 paused to recover from this shock. He could see the 
 evident retort, could see his way, indeed, to retort on 
 the probable rejoinder; but he was too good a chess- 
 player to be satisfied with foreseeing only two moves. 
 
 "And some of the great painters showed their 
 enemies up on canvas, which amounts to the same 
 thing," added Lilian, and gave the Professor a smile 
 which had on him something of the effect of a sun- 
 stroke. 
 
 "I do not say that you are quite wrong," Mr. 
 Willis resumed. " It is unjustifiable and indelicate 
 to betray confidences, or to punish publicly a private 
 offence. But a single malicious and dishonest person 
 may originate a gossip so wide-spread as to amount 
 to publicity. Thistles have winged seeds. A person 
 of that character should be exposed. Poison ought 
 always to be labelled. They told a little story in the 
 United States during the last war which is a propos.
 
 52 BY THE TIBER. 
 
 I suppose I may tell it now without offending any 
 one. Some of the Northerners were dissatisfied that 
 their government had allowed so many Southerners 
 to go free .after having taken the oath of allegiance, 
 and insisted that the Southerners acted upon the rule 
 that ' All is fair in love and war.' One day a rattle- 
 snake was found in the Northern camp. ' Swear it, 
 and let it go ! ' cried one of the soldiers. There are 
 individuals who privately do public mischief behind 
 the screen of the delicacies and scruples of honest 
 people." 
 
 " A propos of donkeys," resumed the delicate voice, 
 finding an opening ; and went on to relate the sorrows 
 and sufferings of the donkey on whose back she had 
 that very morning made the ascent of Monte Cavo, 
 and the fiendish cruelty of the driver, whom she was 
 resolved to call before the proper authorities when 
 she should have discovered where the proper authori- 
 ties might be found. It is a common illusion with 
 strict and law-abiding new-comers in Italy, that they 
 are going to correct a great many inconveniences 
 which are different from the inconveniences they 
 made up their minds to bear at home. This was Mrs. 
 Ellis, a very nice lady from Boston, in the United 
 States, where she had lived a life of the most exquisite 
 gentility for fifty years, and this was her first visit to 
 Europe. 
 
 Seeing the company attentive, she set forth the case 
 eloquently, even trying to include the Signora Passa- 
 rina by occasional explanations in Italian, of which 
 language she was not a perfect mistress. " The poor 
 animal became so impatient that he not only refused 
 to go forward, he turned quite round, and faced the 
 other way," she said ; " and that horrible man gave him 
 the most dreadful blows, tanti bastimenti," she ex- 
 plained to the Passarina, and was shocked that the 
 company could be so cruel as to smile.
 
 A FAMILY MEETING. 53 
 
 Tommy Clouden smiled vacantly, then went for a 
 dictionary. Ten minutes after he was heard explod- 
 ing with laughter, to the surprise of everybody. 
 
 The family had a pleasant way of taking their 
 after-dinner coffee in the drawing-room, where those 
 who did not go out usually spent the evening together. 
 A piano-forte, a card-table, and a chess-table afforded 
 amusement to those who believed that there is nothing 
 more to say in the world; while those who looked 
 upon silence as a demon, or a very stupid fellow, or 
 who secretly knew that it is a sublime presence which 
 they had not the moral composure to face, kept up a 
 babel of tongues to drive it away. 
 
 Mr. Willis came to Valeria with Jean Ingelow's 
 last novel in his hand. " Do you like the bobolink 
 after it has become a rice-bird ? " he asked. 
 
 Valeria gave the book back to him. " I am not 
 yet prepared to read it," she said. " I resent too 
 much the ceasing of the song." 
 
 " You prefer poetry, then ? " he asked. 
 
 " I prefer everything," she replied. He smiled. 
 
 " There are many and various beauties in the world," 
 remarked Miss Vardon, who was trailing her silken 
 flounces up and down the room, and glancing at her- 
 ^self in the mirrors while waiting for a friend's car- 
 riage to come and take her to a reception. 
 
 " I see only too many," Mr. Willis replied mourn' 
 fully. " Sometimes, I confess, I cannot help wishing 
 that ' t' other dear creature ' were away." 
 
 " It is perfectly useless to say anything serious to 
 you," the lady remarked scornfully. " Is that my 
 carriage, James ? " And exit, with a very grand air. 
 
 Enter Lilian Marshall, the white folds of an opera- 
 cloak dropping from her shoulders, a white rose shin- 
 ing like a star in her dark hair, a feathery white fan 
 in her hand, and her face brilliant with color. She 
 smiled brightly, too happy and triumphant not to be
 
 54 BY THE TIBER. 
 
 amiable, said a sweet good-night to all, and went off 
 to the theatre, followed by her aunt, Mrs. Clouden, 
 and by Mr. Clive Willis. 
 
 Professor Wagner, with a look which said that 
 then was the moment, if Mephistopheles wished to 
 make a contract with him, accepted absently Miss 
 Chaplin's compassionate invitation to a game of chess 
 in the boudoir. Mrs. Gordon retired to her apart- 
 ment in the West End to receive some mysterious 
 important visitor. Miss Fanny Gordon, who had 
 been hovering about the piano-forte, asked Mrs. Grey 
 if she was fond of music. Mrs. Carini smiled toward 
 Valeria, and made a motion to approach her. Valeria 
 fled from the room. 
 
 Pausing in the anteroom to give a servant some 
 orders, she saw Mrs. Gordon come out, escorting with 
 great politeness a departing visitor. This was a tall, 
 slight lady, most singularly, but gracefully, swathed 
 in black from head to foot. It was wonderful how 
 anything but a statue could stand in such drapery, 
 that did not fall in folds, but swept and clung about 
 her form from the veiled head to the feet. It was a 
 pallid face, with dark hair dropping low on the fore- 
 head, and dark eyes that seemed to plunge into the 
 object they glanced at. The shape of the face was a 
 sullen oval. The smile was brilliant, and full of life. 
 
 A footman rose as this lady appeared, and opened 
 the door, accompanying her out. 
 
 " It is the Countess Belvedere," Mrs. Gordon said 
 beamingly to Valeria, smiling at the door through 
 which her visitor had passed. " She is the daughter 
 of Prince Mitella. Is n't she beautiful ? " 
 
 Valeria did not reply except by a bow. She felt 
 silent, as if something important had happened to her. 
 Her heart trembled for a moment under the passing 
 glance of that woman, like a quiet pool into which a 
 wild bird has dashed an instant on the wing.
 
 AMONG THE NERI. 55 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 AMONG THE NERI. 
 
 A FEW days after her arrival in Rome Valeria 
 had her tirst audience of the Pope. 
 
 She had looked forward to this event with a pro- 
 found interest. From childhood the name of Pius 
 IX. had been familiar to her, at first as a strange 
 name of strange dread, later as a name suggesting 
 as strange a reverence. 
 
 The unquestioned ruler of the largest body of sub- 
 jects in the world, the discrowned heir of the longest 
 line of kings that the world has known, and singular, 
 in his own office, for length of days, and for the 
 events which had marked his reign, it did not need 
 the Catholic faith to make him an object of vivid 
 interest. But she had that faith, and held it with 
 enthusiasm. 
 
 Her enthusiasm was not, however, that pernicious 
 
 partisanship which believes that the Church can ever 
 
 need the prop of a lie ; and she had none of that 
 
 ^vicious prudence which would conceal the crime of a 
 
 Catholic lest Catholicism might suffer thereby. 
 
 The Spouse of the King of the Cassars of the earth 
 must not be suspected. 
 
 Animated, then, by a faith which was above the 
 reach of circumstances, and a tender reverence for 
 that priesthood among whom she had found her 
 wisest counsellors and kindest friends, she prepared 
 to meet the teacher of them all. 
 
 The carriage came to the door for her and Mrs. 
 Grey toward noon, and they were driven through 
 bright, crowded piazze and dark and narrow streets, 
 over the Ponte Sant' Angelo, past the two "musi-
 
 56 BY THE TIBER. 
 
 cal water-trees " of St. Peter's, under the great arch 
 by the bell-tower, through the echoing street that 
 circles those gigantic yellow walls, and into the court 
 of St. Damasus. The thought that this was the 
 famous Vatican Palace, which had for so many years 
 stood on a cloud among her castles in Spain, the real 
 rattling stones of its court under her carriage wheels, 
 the real yellow stones of its walls all about her, was 
 scarcely dwelt upon ; and it was impossible to think 
 with any interest that those long rows of casements 
 enclosed the loggie, of Eaphael, and that all the gods 
 and goddesses of Olympus and the Nile and the 
 Indus stood within these walls, mute and cold, dis- 
 crowned of all save beauty, in the presence of the 
 God of gods. To Valeria the palace had but one 
 occupant, Pius IX. 
 
 "My dear," Mrs. Grey said, "you must take off 
 your gloves." 
 
 Mrs. Grey acted as ballast whenever her compan- 
 ion got off the solid ground of the commonplace. 
 The shock was not so great as it might have been, 
 however ; for it brought to mind another command : 
 Take the shoes from off thy feet, for the place whereon 
 thou standest is holy ground. 
 
 Valeria removed her gloves, pushed her rustling 
 train behind her, rearranged Mrs. Grey's veil drapery, 
 and looked at the picturesque Swiss guard, as she 
 was bid. 
 
 Monsignor Fenelon, who was to present them, made 
 his appearance, and conducted them into one of the 
 Eaphael loggie, where twenty ladies and gentlemen 
 were waiting. They took their places near the door. 
 
 " He will enter by this door," Monsignor explained ; 
 " then you must kneel. He will pass down the line, 
 giving each one his hand to kiss ; and he may make 
 a little address when that is over." 
 
 " I want to kiss his foot," Mrs. Grey whispered.
 
 AMONG THE NERL 57 
 
 Monsignor nodded, and glanced inquiringly at 
 Valeria. 
 
 " No," she replied to the glance, " I want to see hia 
 face." 
 
 At the opposite side of the long, narrow room, at 
 the end of the line, stood a very tall gray-haired 
 prelate in a purple silk robe talking with some ladies, 
 who seemed to be under his care. He walked about 
 very much at his ease, speaking with different persons. 
 Presently he crossed the room, and shook hands 
 with Monsignor Fenelou, addressing him in English. 
 
 " This lady has a letter of introduction for you," 
 Monsignor Fenelon said, and presented Valeria to 
 Monsignor Nestore. 
 
 Valeria rose from her chair, but he motioned her 
 to sit again. " Come and bring me your letter at a 
 quarter past two this afternoon," he said in the man- 
 ner of one used to command. " I shall then have 
 time to see you a few minutes before others corne. 
 I dine at two, and receive at half past two." 
 
 The curtain was withdrawn from the door, and 
 Monsignor Nestore returned to his place. The Swiss 
 guards entered, and took their places at the lower 
 -end of the room, and a moment later the doorway 
 was filled with a crowd of prelates picturesque in 
 scarlet, purple, and black. The company knelt. 
 Valeria, with her hands tightly and unconsciously 
 clasped, glanced over those figures to discover the 
 supreme one. They entered, and, separating, dis- 
 closed a form all in white, the robe, the face, the 
 hair. But the beaming eyes were brown, and the 
 smiling lips were human with sweet and kindly life. 
 "A delicious old man," one of the least reverent of 
 the company pronounced him afterward. 
 
 The Pope gave his hand to Monsignor Fenelon to 
 kiss, then laid it on his shoulder while listening to 
 the few words that were spoken to him in a low
 
 58 BY THE TIBER. 
 
 voice. Valeria could not unclasp her bands, could 
 not remove her eyes from his face, even after Mrs. 
 Grey had kissed his foot, and her own turn had 
 come. 
 
 The Pope looked at her, smiled, laid his hand upon 
 her head, murmured a few words, and passed on. " It 
 is the hand that holds the keys ! " she thought, as she 
 felt its light pressure on her hair. 
 
 It was all over in a few minutes, and they drove 
 home to find the family at breakfast. 
 
 All the neri asked for the Holy Father, and had 
 heard that he was in excellent health. All tbe 
 lianchi asked for the Pope, and had heard that he 
 was failing rapidly. All the neri prayed that he 
 might be spared, since after him would come the 
 deluge. All the lianclii responded with an emphatic 
 "Poh!" 
 
 After breakfast Valeria drove to Monsignor Nes- 
 tore's. She found him dining with his chaplain, the 
 table drawn up before the sofa on which Monsignor 
 sat. He motioned her to a seat beside him while he 
 read her letter. Then, after a few kind inquiries and 
 offers of service, he led her to a large, bright drawing- 
 room, where a dozen or more ladies and gentlemen 
 were waiting. 
 
 Monsignor Nestore received informally two or three 
 hours of every afternoon, and if any inferior persons 
 came, they never displayed their inferiority while in 
 his house. Uncompromisingly dignified, cultivated, 
 yet brusque, this prelate liked no trifling in his pres- 
 ence, and allowed none in his house. The person who 
 could not say something sensible might remain silent, 
 and he did not hesitate to administer a sharp rebuke 
 if he thought that it was deserved. Full of courage 
 and common-sense, travelled, familiar with courts, 
 intimate with the leading spirits of that party which 
 in the West is called ultramontane, of which he was
 
 AMONG THE NERL 59 
 
 a conspicuous member, it was a privilege to know 
 him, even if one did not always agree with him. 
 
 There was always some one worth seeing at these 
 receptions. Here was Louis Veuillot, then on a visit 
 to Eome ; and the lovely Countess Steinberg, whose 
 windows the mob had broken two years before, when 
 she illuminated for the Pope's coronation festa ; and 
 a distinguished missionary Monsignore just returned 
 from China ; and an English lady just from Lourdes, 
 full of a miraculous cure which she had witnessed 
 there ; and the fine, old-school Vicomtesse de Valois, 
 who, in spite of ill-health, had made a pilgrimage from 
 Belgium to throw herself au pieds du Saint P&re. 
 And here was our Valeria, with the wild pine-scents 
 of her native State yet lingering in her nostrils, and 
 her eyes full of pleased wonder over this wonderful 
 Roman life. 
 
 Monsignor presented her rather sweepingly to the 
 company, giving them that slight biographical sketch 
 of her which he sometimes did give of persons so 
 presented, and at which his friends were wont to 
 smile. They often smiled at his little characteristic 
 peculiarities. Valeria somewhat blushingly made 
 her courtesy, then settled contentedly into the sofa 
 before the tire, accepted the screen given her by her 
 host, and prepared to listen. It is so delightful to 
 hear people talk when they have something worth 
 saying. 
 
 It was a pleasant room. How many, in all parts 
 of the world, will remember it, now that its life has 
 dropped to ashes ! The bright sun pouring in at the 
 southern windows ; the bright wood-fire on the hearth ; 
 the portrait of Francis Joseph of Austria, given to 
 Mousignor by the Emperor himself ; the large gilded 
 arm-chairs ranged about the walls ; the case of tropical 
 birds opposite the southern windows ; the table piled 
 with choice books near the western windows; the
 
 60 BY THE TIBER. 
 
 little "boudoir sofa before the fire, with always one 
 or two ladies nestled into its cushions ; Don Giovanni, 
 the little chaplain, coming and going, now with a 
 letter, now with a private message from some one 
 who must see Monsignore immediately and alone; 
 and, above all, the tall figure of Monsignor Nestore 
 himself, leaning on the mantelpiece, or going about 
 among his guests, speaking fluently in five languages, 
 seeing that no one was neglected, listening to what 
 some isolated knot of gentlemen were talking about, 
 having a word for all, a little dogmatical some- 
 times, but never mean, never unkind, never trivial. 
 
 Peace to his gray hairs, that were laid in the grave 
 just as the scarlet berretta of a cardinal was settling 
 upon them ! He was well hated ; not only with the 
 manly bitterness of political and religious opposition, 
 but with the hate of Kome. 
 
 For Rome means hate. It is love spelt backward ; 
 and the witches know that there is no curse so bitter 
 as a backward-spoken blessing, no blasphemy so bold 
 as a backward-muttered prayer. All history laughs 
 at the sentimental legend of " Eoma, Amor." 
 
 Before Valeria left his house that day Monsignor 
 Nestore invited her to assist at his Mass the next 
 morning in the crypt of St. Peter's. 
 
 It was a golden opportunity, for in the long list of 
 clergymen from all parts of the world who seek the 
 privilege of saying a Mass at the tomb of St. Peter, 
 each one has to await his turn, and only six persons 
 are admitted at a time to the crypt. 
 
 Valeria was up, therefore, by daylight, and driving 
 through the golden freshness of the December sunrise, 
 which found the streets nearly empty. A warmer air 
 met her as she raised the heavy curtain of the church, 
 the perpetual spring of St. Peter's. 
 
 The nave was dim, the side aisles dark ; but the 
 dome had caught the rising sunlight, and all beneath
 
 AMONG THE NERL 61 
 
 it was glorious. Seated on the steps of the great 
 altar were Madame de Valois and her companion. 
 Valeria joined them, and waited, watching the sun- 
 light creeping down to the stone Apostles visible 
 through the windows of the facade. 
 
 Presently a group of Liliputian figures issued from 
 the sacristy, arid crossed the church toward the pilas- 
 ter of St. Veronica, growing more human in size as 
 they came nearer, and standing revealed Monsignor 
 Nestore and his attendants. The ladies followed 
 him, a little door inside the railing under the balcony 
 was opened, and they all went down the stairway 
 inside the foundations of the pilaster. 
 
 To one accustomed to the thin walls of brick or 
 wood of the New World, there is a peculiar and 
 romantic charm in these hidden stairways, in these 
 immense piles of apparently solid masonry threaded 
 with narrow, vaulted passages, and pierced with hid- 
 den loopholes through which, far up behind a statue, 
 or a vase, or an acanthus leaf of some beautiful capi- 
 tal, a human head may be thrust out, as small and as 
 unnoted as a fly on the ceiling. 
 
 The little chapel of the crypt was glowing with 
 lamps and with candles when they stepped into it out 
 of the shadows. It is the jewel-case of St. Peter's; 
 for, set in the midst of its mosaics and its gold, is 
 the " lordly male sapphire " of the keystone of the 
 arch of the Christian faith, the venerated remains of 
 St. Peter. 
 
 Monsignor put on his vestments before the altar, 
 and said Mass. Outside, in the confession, Canova's 
 kneeling Pope seemed to pray with them, looking in 
 through the iron screen. 
 
 When it was over Valeria went* to take her coffee 
 with Madame de Valois, spent a pleasant hour with 
 her, then returned to Casa Passarina to find two or 
 three ladies waiting to see her.
 
 62 BY THE TIBER. 
 
 They had come on "business concerning which they 
 were very urgent and enthusiastic. The government, 
 under pretence of making excavations, was going to 
 remove the Stations of the Cross from the Colosseum, 
 where that devotion had been made every Friday in 
 the time of the Popes, the Colosseum having been 
 consecrated to the martyrs ; and these ladies proposed 
 to go the next day, with as large a company as they 
 could collect, and make the devotion for the last 
 time. 
 
 It was, in fact, more a protest against the action of 
 the government than a devotion, though some of the 
 ladies engaged in the enterprise were sincerely relig- 
 ious, and felt both grieved and scandalized at what 
 they considered the desecration of a holy shrine. 
 The really prudent motive of the government was 
 not known till afterward, when it was said that 
 either the Colosseum must have been put in a state 
 which would make it impossible to occupy it for any 
 meeting whatever, or the use of it must have been 
 conceded for a great political demonstration, which 
 would have been red republican in nature, if not in 
 name. 
 
 " It is time for you to show your colors," one of the 
 ladies urged, seeing Valeria hesitate. " We must let 
 them see what we think of this. No Catholic has a 
 right to hide his opinions now." 
 
 " I have already shown my colors in a way that 
 no one could mistake," Valeria replied ; " and I am 
 willing to do anything that I ought. But don't you 
 think that these flashes of gunpowder are rather 
 undignified? Besides, I don't like to pray out of 
 spite." 
 
 "Do you think that we wish to pray out of spite ? " 
 asked the Countess Steinberg, reproachfully. 
 
 "Dear madam, it is the last thing that I would 
 think of you ! " exclaimed Valeria, who admired the
 
 AMONG THE NERL 63 
 
 lady sincerely, admired not only her pathetic, grace- 
 ful beauty, but her fine, enthusiastic nature. " But 
 neither must you believe," she added, " that I would 
 hesitate to join you from coldness or cowardice. I 
 cannot decide now, but will send you word in the 
 evening." 
 
 They went, a little discontented, and she set her- 
 self to thinking over the matter. But the conclusion 
 seemed to be forever flying at her approach, and the 
 arguments accumulating on either side, on the four- 
 and-twenty sides, or the eight-and-forty sides, on the 
 sides that never ceased to present themselves, and 
 complicate themselves in an inextricable tangle. 
 
 " Order ! " she cried at last, bringing down an im- 
 aginary hammer. " Ideality has the floor." 
 
 There was a momentary lull in her mind; then 
 the discussion proceeded something in the following 
 manner. 
 
 Faith (in whose breast Ideality had hidden her 
 face). Shall the Lord listen in vain to-morrow over 
 the spot where once he leaned to receive in his arms 
 the ascending souls of martyrs, and still leaned, patient 
 and loving, when only a feeble prayer came up ? Shall 
 all be mute to-morrow ? 
 
 A quiet Voice (supposed to be Reason). "Non vox 
 sed votum, non clamor sed amor, non cordula sed cor 
 psallit in aure Dei." Let each one sacrifice in his 
 own soul to-morrow. 
 
 Another Voice. But example ? Besides, it looks as 
 if one were afraid. 
 
 Fourth Voice. You are afraid. You fear the frown 
 of a friend. You fear ridicule. You are afraid that 
 some one will say that you are afraid. 
 
 Courage. Hear, hear ! 
 
 Prudence (in a sarcastic voice). I have been in- 
 vited here to-day to speak, an unusual compliment 
 from this parliament, which has ordinarily only words
 
 64 BY THE TIBER. 
 
 of scorn for me. I will not deign to retaliate ; though 
 I might remind the honorable members of certain 
 occasions on which, looking on from my place of ban- 
 ishment, I have seen this assembly present the pitiable 
 Icarian spectacle of 
 
 Chair. Order! 
 
 Prudence (taking out a note-book and reading). In- 
 fallible rules : 1st. When you are in doubt what to 
 do, do nothing ; 2d. A word once spoken, or an act 
 once performed, not all the king's horses can bring it 
 back again ; 3d. Take ten years to think over any 
 proposition coming from women. (Hisses.') 
 
 A shrill Voice. The chair, being a woman, ought 
 
 Chair. I am not a woman ; I am a soul. 
 
 Another Voice. If Prudence came here only to read 
 a set of musty old proverbs 
 
 Third Voice. Prudence never does say anything 
 original 
 
 Common-Sense (roughly). Question ! 
 
 Prudence (who has been whispering with Reason). 
 In the first place, you are bound to obey and respect 
 the government under which you live, when it does 
 not command you to commit a wrong or omit a plain 
 duty. In the second place, as subordinate members 
 of a party, you are neither called upon nor permitted 
 to take part in a demonstration where your superiors 
 do not lead you. 
 
 Several Voices. Our leaders are in church trium- 
 phant ! (Interruptions, hubbub, riot, chaos.} 
 
 Valeria put on her bonnet, as one puts a cloth over 
 a bee-hive, drove to Monsignor Nestore, and told him 
 the whole story. 
 
 "Don't go," he said. "It's a piece of nonsense. 
 Those ladies will be called before the Questore." 
 
 " Two heads are better than one," she said to her- 
 self, with a sigh of relief, as she left him ; " especially 
 when one of them is my head"
 
 KATE CROMO. 65 
 
 The next afternoon, in common with half Rome, 
 Valeria had an errand which took her to the Roman 
 Forum, and she arrived just in time to see half a 
 dozen lady ringleaders marched out of the Colosseum 
 under the escort of a policeman, and conducted to 
 parts unknown. The Countess Steinberg had been 
 arrested for organizing a political demonstration. 
 The other ladies voluntarily accompanied her to the 
 office of the Questore, where she was informed that, 
 if she repeated the offence, she would be sent over 
 the frontier, and forbidden to return to Italy. 
 
 " Banished from Eome ! " It had quite an heroic 
 sound. 
 
 The next day the Countess Steinberg's tables were 
 laden with the visiting-cards of the neri, foremost 
 among them, the enamelled pasteboard of Monsignor 
 Nestore. 
 
 " The day after my windows were broken, two 
 years ago, a thousand cards were left on me," she 
 told Valeria. "To-day there must be fifteen hun- 
 dred." 
 
 " It would be well to send a list of your cards to 
 the Questore," Valeria suggested. "Do you think 
 that your visitors would object ? " 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 KATE CROMO. 
 
 ONE day, when Valeria came in from a walk, she 
 was told that Miss Cromo had returned. The 
 people in the house said a good deal about Miss 
 Cromo, her goings and comings, her sayings and 
 doings. She seemed to be a person of consequence 
 among them. 
 
 5
 
 66 BY THE TIBER. 
 
 " What sort of person is she ? " Valeria had asked 
 of Miss Chaplin. " Shall I like her ? " 
 
 " She is very clever," Miss Chaplin replied, " and 
 very amusing. She can caricature a person perfectly. 
 She could make you laugh at your best friend." 
 
 " Oh, no, she could not ! " Valeria replied decisively. 
 " I would not allow her to try. But you have not 
 answered me." 
 
 Miss Chaplin became circumspect. " If she should 
 take a fancy to you, she would be very useful ; she 
 has been in Rome so long, and knows so many 
 people." 
 
 " And if she should take a fancy against me, what 
 then ? " 
 
 " I think that she will like you," was the reply, 
 spoken with a reserve which prevented further ques- 
 tioning. 
 
 "Do tell me something of Miss Cromo," Valeria 
 said afterward to Mr. O'Hara, the Irish boarder. " I 
 hear so much of her, yet can understand nothing." 
 
 He laughed. " She is very clever," he said. " Very 
 clever ! " he repeated, nodding his head. 
 
 Valeria looked attentively at the speaker. She 
 liked Mr. O'Hara, yet was constantly being vexed 
 with him. " I hope you do not flatter yourself that 
 you are charitable now," she said with great frank- 
 ness. " Because you might just as well have called 
 her a rascal." 
 
 He became serious. " I have no wish nor intention 
 to say anything of the kind. She is a very interest- 
 ing lady." 
 
 Valeria's next effort was with Mr. Clive Willis. 
 " I have been trying to form some idea of Miss 
 Cromo ; but no one will give me a definite answer. 
 I shall not ask you." 
 
 " If she had been a man, she would have been a 
 lawyer," he said concisely. " And if she were a man
 
 KATE CROMO. 67 
 
 and a lawyer, and I needed some one to prove that I 
 never existed, and that all who imagined to have 
 seen me were suffering from an optical illusion, and 
 that my own notion that I existed was an hallucina- 
 tion, and, since a person who never existed cannot 
 have an hallucination, that I never even fancied that 
 I existed ; and then, this having been all satis- 
 factorily proved to the world, if I needed that my 
 counsel should turn about the next day, and prove to 
 all the world that he never said any such thing, 
 I would instantly retain Mr. Kate Cromo for any fee 
 which he should choose to name." 
 
 Valeria mused a little while. " I suppose you 
 would n't like to call them fibs," she remarked. 
 
 " No, we do not call them fibs," Mr. Willis replied. 
 " They are grafted truths. Pardon me, I don't want 
 to be funny, but suppose that we should call them 
 Cromatics ? " 
 
 " Well," Valeria said, putting an end to the sub- 
 ject, " with all your chromatics I have not found the 
 key-note. I will find it myself." 
 
 " The key-note is a capital I," he said. 
 _It was not pleasant. Nothing that she had heard 
 of this woman was pleasant. The result of it all was 
 a feeling that no good would come to her from such 
 an acquaintance. 
 
 Valeria had a will like the wind's will, which goes 
 inevitably on its general course, yet swerves around 
 impediments, seeming momentarily to turn back at 
 times, but still going ever forward where its face was 
 first set. She liked to softly breathe her wishes, and 
 preferred to give up unimportant ones rather than 
 contend ; but she had at need the power of the storm. 
 In the affairs of others she had no will, and she was 
 incurious to a fault. All her life had been passed in 
 retirement, with little society beside books and na- 
 ture ; and, standing, as in a magic circle, surrounded
 
 68 BY THE TIBER. 
 
 by these companions, she was only too prone to look 
 upon the persons and personal interests about her as 
 mere pictures, or, at most, as scenes in which she was 
 never to take a part, and actors with whom she had 
 little or nothing to do. A dreamy veil of unreality 
 covered it all. 
 
 This sort of life had had the natural result of render- 
 ing her less prompt in social fencing, and, together 
 with an exceeding sensitiveness, and a habit of seldom 
 speaking except from the surface, had given many 
 persons the impression that she was easily influenced, 
 and not hard to coerce. Her courage and decision 
 were all for great things ; in trifles she was timid. 
 Yet many littles make a mickle ; and it had some- 
 times happened that her patience had broken under 
 an accumulation of petty aggressions silently borne, 
 and that the aggressor had been astonished by a sud- 
 den indignant self-assertion, which had left him puz- 
 zled ever after to know how to understand her, but 
 very little disposed to provoke a temper which had 
 for a moment seemed to him the most proud and 
 arrogant that he had ever known. To sincere affec- 
 tion her heart was as the heart of a child, pleased, 
 trusting, and uncritical; to sympathy she gave love; 
 for sympathy enters where affection waits at the door. 
 But, then, sympathy is rare. 
 
 Conscious of her own disposition, and that self- 
 defence was to her difficult and troublesome, Valeria 
 shrank from associating with a person who seemed, 
 from all that she had heard of her, to be of a positive 
 and aggressive character. She took the opportunity 
 to speak to Miss Chaplin on the subject on the day 
 of Cromo's return, when they went out for a walk 
 together. 
 
 A certain intimacy had sprung up between the 
 two. They saw each other frequently, and always 
 with pleasure. Valeria liked those long walks when
 
 KATE CROMO. 69 
 
 they sauntered slowly through the purely Roman 
 streets of the city, stopping now and then to look at 
 some beautifully carved portone, or a balcony of 
 flowers high up on a house- front, or the overhanging 
 green of a roof-garden running along the sky, at 
 any of those beauties which catch the eyes at every 
 turn. Sometimes the open door of a quiet church 
 would invite them, and Miss Chaplin would say, 
 " Let us go in and speak to the Lord a moment ; " and, 
 kneeling there before the altar, aware of the bowed 
 head and praying heart beside her, Valeria had a 
 foretaste of the sweetness of heavenly intercourse. 
 
 " I want to tell you," she said ; " I have been 
 thinking that I would rather not become acquainted 
 \vith Miss Cromo. There is no need that I should ; 
 for I am going to change entirely my mode of life. 
 I did not come here for society, you know ; I have no 
 leisure for it, and I have already spent too much 
 time in visiting. I must resume immediately my 
 American habits ; rise early, go out to Mass, then 
 write all the forenoon. When the others breakfast, I 
 shall dine. I may walk out, or talk an hour or two 
 before dinner-time ; but I shall not go to the table. 
 Tha Passarina will send me something to my room 
 for supper. I am sorry to miss the bright dinner- 
 table chat, and the occasional evening in the drawing- 
 room. But I must ; for they set my eyes too wide 
 open, and I must sleep early. As Miss Cromo does 
 not, you say, come to breakfast, and joins the family 
 only at dinner, we need never meet, or but very 
 rarely." 
 
 " It is as well that you should not know her," Miss 
 Chaplin said. " But she will wish to see you." 
 
 " I do not see why she should." 
 
 " She likes to know every one. Then you are in 
 the house, and she will hear you spoken of." 
 
 " Please do not mention me to her. If she should
 
 70 BY THE TIBER. 
 
 ask for me, tell her that I am very busy, and avoid 
 introductions." 
 
 The next day Miss Chaplin told Valeria that Miss 
 Cromo had asked for her, and expected a visit. 
 
 " Say nothing of me," she replied. 
 
 A few days later the subject was mentioned again. 
 "She has spoken of you repeatedly, and is greatly 
 surprised that you do not go to see her." 
 
 " Say nothing of me," Valeria repeated. " And, by 
 and by, she will understand." 
 
 Again, after a day or two, Miss Chaplin returned 
 to the subject. " Really, you must excuse me for 
 boring you, but if you do not go, she will be angry 
 with both of us. I believe that she suspects me of 
 trying to keep you away. She has told me to come 
 and bring you at four o'clock this afternoon." 
 
 " Indeed ! " said Valeria, opening her eyes widely. 
 " I am going for a drive this afternoon. I hope that 
 you do not make any promises for me." 
 
 Another day was set by Miss Cromo, and yet 
 another ; and the third time, seeing that Miss Chap- 
 lin was nervous and annoyed about the matter, 
 Valeria went. 
 
 " But I was never why, it is being bullied ! 
 in my life before," she said. " And it seems to me 
 that this woman has very little of either pride or 
 delicacy." 
 
 Miss Chaplin was herself vexed enough to speak 
 plainly. " Miss Cromo never allows pride, or deli- 
 cacy, or the rights of others to stand in the way of 
 her wishes," she said. 
 
 Entering a large and rather excessively bric-a- 
 brac d chamber, they were met by a vivacious lady, 
 who kissed ' dear Frances ' fondly on both cheeks, and 
 welcomed Valeria as cordially as though she had not 
 dragged her there. Not a word was said of the visit 
 having been delayed. She chatted gayly and amus-
 
 KATE CROMO. 71 
 
 ingly, displayed her treasures, delivered, a propos, 
 learned little lectures without appearing to suspect 
 that her hearers might possibly themselves know 
 something of the subjects of which she treated ; then, 
 through a series of gossipy transitions, slid into the 
 subject of genealogy, and gave a shining account of 
 her own, in which a celebrated historical personage 
 would have been surprised to find himself included. 
 
 Miss Chaplin, having an engagement, was obliged 
 to go away after a few minutes ; but Miss Cromo 
 urged Valeria so to stay a little longer, that, charmed 
 and fascinated, she accepted the invitation. 
 
 How bright she was ! How gay and comical ! 
 How comfortable she made her visitor, and how 
 delightfully home-like it was when, unexpectedly, tea 
 was brought in ! How pretty she was, too ! with a 
 face that looked fresh in that soft light, and her 
 uncovered brown hair, in which one did not detect a 
 thread of white ; with the little birdlike ways, at 
 once so dainty and so decided, and the graceful dress, 
 which, however, was not well suited to her short 
 figure. Miss Cromo always dressed tall. Her self- 
 esteem would not allow her to admit that she could 
 nofwear or do anything which the tallest woman in 
 the world could wear or do. 
 
 She flattered coarsely, and asked indelicate ques- 
 tions ; but she did both with a lover-like air which 
 left one astonished and amused, rather than offended. 
 
 " I am almost sixty years old ; how old are you ? " 
 she asked with a bright, bold smile, and a glance as 
 bright. She never failed to tell her age, and, while 
 taking remarkable care of her person, proclaimed in 
 season and out that she was an old woman. 
 
 " I am thirty-five," replied Valeria, and thought 
 that she would like to present the lady with a behav- 
 ior-book with certain passages strongly marked. 
 
 " You are a beauty ! " Miss Cromo declared with
 
 72 BY THE TIBER. 
 
 the greatest coolness. "I am going to fall in love 
 with you directly, and I want you to come to see me 
 every day. Eeceive your friends here in my sala 
 whenever you like. And bring rne in the evening 
 what you have written during the day, and read it to 
 me." 
 
 " I never show my manuscript, nor tell what it is," 
 Valeria replied. " I don't like to. I never did in 
 my own family, when father and mother were alive. 
 I could not, though I wrote only insignificant little 
 stories. They had to wait for the print. I have 
 not the habit of telling any one what I am doing. 
 It is, perhaps, odd ; but I shrink from it. And 
 now I am more is it odd ? than ever ; for I am 
 dreaming of writing a book. See I I tell you so 
 much." 
 
 " What is the name of the book ? " Miss Cromo 
 asked promptly. 
 
 " I have not yet found one. It is so hard to suit a 
 story with a name. I would n't like to Nicodemus 
 the poor thing into nothing. Besides I I don't 
 know whether it will be a boy or a girl." 
 
 " You darling creature ! Tell me what the story is, 
 and we will find a name together." 
 
 Valeria laughed. " You are a terrible woman ! I 
 am not going to tell you a word more about it ! " 
 
 " Miss Chaplin says that you are going to write 
 for the Fair Play" the lady went on, in no wise 
 disconcerted by this failure, intending, probably, to 
 return to the charge another time. " What are you 
 going to write ? " 
 
 " Oh, it will be nothing ! " Valeria was quite will- 
 ing to tell all about this. " They want only an occa- 
 sional short article on some given subject." 
 
 " What subject have they given you now ? " 
 
 " They wish me to answer this question : ' What is 
 the root of the Catholic difficulty in Rome ? ' "
 
 KATE CROMO. 73 
 
 " When are you going to write it ? " pursued the 
 inquisitor in a very business-like manner. 
 
 " Not for a week or ten days. I shall have to ask 
 information. That sort of thing is, indeed, outside 
 my province." 
 
 " I have promised to write an article now and then 
 for the Aurora? Miss Cromo said. " We must tell 
 each other what our subjects are, so as not to write 
 about the same thing. They wanted me to write for 
 Fair Play; but I refused." 
 
 She did not, however, tell what her subject was, 
 nor did Valeria ask her ; and her assertion that she 
 had been asked to write for the Fair Play was an in- 
 vention of the moment. 
 
 The conversation then became less personal, and 
 Valeria presently took leave. 
 
 " Remember, you are to let me see you every day," 
 was the parting charge of her entertainer. " You are 
 just the friend that I have always wanted. I have 
 never seen any one who suits me so perfectly." And 
 the sentence ended with a rather too warm kiss on 
 her visitor's mouth. 
 
 " You handsome creature ! " she exclaimed, looking 
 after her. " You step like a young empress ! " 
 
 " That ' young ' is a master-stroke," thought Valeria. 
 " It really is pleasant to hear, though I know just how 
 old I am." 
 
 She went thoughtfully to her room, interested, yet 
 unsatisfied. She had never had an intimate friend, 
 and she would have liked to have one, and one as 
 clever and amusing as Miss Cromo. But could she 
 trust her ? It was far from sure. The one thing 
 necessary was that her friend should be sincere and 
 loyal, and ready to forgive sometimes, as she surely 
 would be forgiven anything but insincerity and be- 
 trayal. Valeria knew that she was herself no saint, 
 and she did not expect to find saints among her
 
 74 BY THE TIBER. 
 
 friends. She had not found them anywhere, least of 
 all among those who appeared to consider themselves 
 irreproachable. And affection likes to have some- 
 thing to forgive, something to explain and excuse. 
 That was its peculiar province, she thought. There- 
 fore all that she had heard against Miss Cromo was 
 as nothing to her. She could quite well think for 
 herself; and her inclination had ever been to look 
 with interest on a person who was much criticised. 
 Popular judgments are frequently so worthless, a 
 witless acclamation, like the running of a silly flock of 
 sheep who crowd pell-mell after one whose nose has 
 happened to lead him in some new direction. For 
 the rest, it seemed to her that their characters were 
 complementary, she standing apart as a spectator of 
 social life, the other an active combatant ; she un- 
 ready in defence, the other ever prepared, and scent- 
 ing the battle afar off; she religiously inclined, her 
 merest weeds of fancy growing with roots toward the 
 centre of things, and her butterflies all Psyches ; 
 the other intellectually sceptical and material. She 
 did not fear the differences, nor entertain any phari- 
 saical exclusiveness. Each had wit enough to appre- 
 ciate the other, and they could quarrel amicably. 
 
 " If only I could trust her ! " she thought. 
 
 And still she mused over the interview with a 
 trouble which she could not define. She would not 
 admit that she had felt for the first time in her life 
 how strong is an unscrupulous and smiling persis- 
 tence, and how convincing is mere bold assertion ; or 
 that, at the bottom of her heart, she was sorry for 
 having yielded, and made the visit she had at first 
 refused to make. She sought by reason to combat an 
 instinct which had never deceived her, and succeeded 
 only in imposing on herself an apparent acquiescence, 
 which did not silence the doubt. For reason is always 
 imperfect in judging of character, since the logic of.
 
 BLACK SPIRITS AND WHITE. 75 
 
 the Creator overpasses the logic of the schools, and 
 our thought may not grasp the premises of a human 
 soul. 
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 BLACK SPIRITS AND WHITE, BLUE SPIRITS AND GRAY. 
 
 OXCE a week during the winter the Signora Pas- 
 sarina opened her house to all the friends of all 
 her boarders, giving them tea at her own expense. On 
 the same day Mrs. Gordon and Miss Cromo received 
 in their own apartments, the former with closed 
 doors, the latter in a semi-privacy from which she 
 could overlook the crowd outside, and see who her 
 friends' friends were, and also if any of her own 
 subjects allowed themselves to be entangled in pro- 
 fane wiles while on their way to pay their respects 
 to herself. Between these two ladies there was an 
 irreconcilable feud ; that is, Mrs. Gordon loftily and 
 severely disapproved of Miss Cromo in every possible 
 way, and Miss Cromo hated Mrs. Gordon from the 
 bottom of her heart, the more bitterly because she 
 had vainly made every effort to establish an intimacy 
 with her. Mrs. Gordon was a favorite in papalina 
 society, and was a very honest, if rather a bigoted 
 Catholic. Miss Cromo, who called herself Catholic 
 without having the least reason to do so, was deeply 
 mortified that papalina society would not notice her, 
 and believed that Mrs. Gordon was the cause of the 
 Countess Belvedere having given her the cut direct, 
 the Countess Belvedere being conspicuously papalina. 
 Silently and coldly all this society passed the little 
 woman by. In vain she begged the few whom she knew 
 to bring their friends to her. They did not refuse ;
 
 76 BY THE TIBER. 
 
 but the tantalizing prize seemed ever within reach 
 of her eagerly grasping fingers, while ever it slipped 
 through them. But still she persisted, having perfect 
 confidence, and with reason, in her power to hold 
 what once she had grasped. It mattered little to her 
 that she " ate humble pie," as she confessed, to make 
 a friend or conciliate a foe, since she fully intended 
 that both should afterward be made to feel her 
 strength. The chief and perhaps only value that 
 Valeria had in her eyes was in her being a member 
 of papalina society. 
 
 These Saturday receptions at Casa Passarina were 
 considered important by needy artists and professional 
 people of all sorts. They came to make desirable 
 acquaintances, and to snap up ingenuous tourists, es- 
 pecially the golden geese of America. There came 
 now and then certain American ladies, resident in 
 Rome, who held themselves apart with severe coun- 
 tenances, which signified that they were on no account 
 to be approached by the vulgar, and proclaimed to 
 uninstructed Italians that there were Americans and 
 Americans ; and there were also a number of Italian 
 ladies of the middle class, who could not see the 
 difference, and were charmed alike with everybody, 
 since, after all, these foreigners were all so curiosi that 
 it was n't worth while mentioning, unless one of them 
 should be guilty of some unusually brilliant stupidity. 
 And there were the tourists, refreshing to see, with 
 their enthusiasm and their intelligence, with history 
 and the guide-book at their finger-ends, talking with 
 expanded hearts of great things under the supercil- 
 ious eyes of people who dryly talked of little things, 
 and looked upon great subjects as they would have 
 looked upon caged bears, thankful that they could 
 not get near enough to bite them. Those dear tour- 
 ists in their travelling dresses, or the plain black silks 
 which they had put into the bottoms of their trunks
 
 BLACK SPIRITS AND WHITE. 77 
 
 in the palpitating hour of packing, and who believed 
 that they were in the very pink of Roman society, 
 and were touching the outer flounce of the millennium ! 
 What a wonderful account they would give, when they 
 went home, of these same receptions ! 
 
 There was little Dr. Kraus, who was but just 
 launched on his profession, and naturally and properly 
 anxious to make his way. Miss Cromo had taken 
 him under her protection, and recommended him to 
 everybody, putting certain high lights into her pic- 
 ture of his capabilities ; and he, in return, attended 
 her assiduously for next to nothing, studied over all 
 her little ailments with the solemn anxiety of a court 
 physician, artistically painted her rheumatic knees 
 with iodine, bore her snubs patiently, and was alto- 
 gether as humble a servant as could be desired. 
 There was Mr. Clive Willis, looking most serious 
 when most amused, and a number of pleasant lady 
 novel-writers. Occasionally some distinguished per- 
 son came, partly not to slight an invitation, or rudely 
 break a clever little net that some fair hand had cast 
 over him before he was aware, partly to see how 
 queer it all was. 
 
 MIL Clive Willis had, rather impudently, proposed 
 and copied out a motto to be written on the cards for 
 the Passarina Saturdays : 
 
 "Ricchi, e al verde di cotanti, 
 Qua venite tutti quanti." 
 
 But then, he was always jeering. Miss Cromo said 
 that he mocked himself in the looking-glass. 
 
 The first of these receptions took place two or three 
 days after Miss Cromo's return; and that lady invited 
 Valeria to come to her apartment to " help her re- 
 ceive," she said. 
 
 "And receive your friends here, my darling," she 
 said. " It is so much quieter than out in the Passa-
 
 78 BY THE TIBER. 
 
 rina sola. You can always use my reception-room 
 just as if it were your own." 
 
 Valeria was surprised at such generosity. "You 
 are too kind," she said. "But I do not intend to 
 invite any one, and I shall have very few visitors. 
 I will come with pleasure and see you receive. 
 Nothing will make me believe that you need any 
 help." 
 
 Miss Chaplin came to Valeria's room to take her 
 to Mrs. Gordon's, where she promised to go later. 
 Miss Chaplin was looking very fair and pretty, with 
 a good deal of white lace about her silver-gray dress, 
 and a pink rose in a little mist of mignonette in her 
 bosom. 
 
 " How nice of you to wear flowers ! " Valeria said. 
 " You keep me in countenance. See what a red rose 
 I found this morning. I 'm making believe that it is 
 a ruby. I have been sighing all my life for a ruby." 
 
 " I hope never to be too old to wear flowers," Miss 
 Chaplin said. " I used to know a beautiful white- 
 haired lady in America, who often put a rose in her 
 hair to fasten a lappet or a veil. Once I saw 
 her with a pale yellow rose like a star, and it was 
 lovely." 
 
 " White hairs," said Valeria, " are the dawn of 
 heaven, it is better in Italian, the alba del para- 
 d'iso, and it is fitting that there should be a morn- 
 ing star above them." 
 
 Miss Cromo had been very much occupied all the 
 morning, and was but just dressed when Valeria 
 went into her room, and offered to help her. 
 
 " If you would be so very kind," she replied. " I 
 have not a moment, and there are two or three little 
 things to do. Clara Vine is in Eome, and is coming 
 here this afternoon. Will you please find her book 
 it is there on the upper shelf and cut the leaves, 
 and put it in some conspicuous place ? I have never
 
 BLACK SPIRITS AND WHITE. 79 
 
 looked at it. And you might read out some little 
 thing while I am dusting this Dresden set." 
 
 " What other notables do you expect ? " Valeria 
 asked, searching over the books. 
 
 " There is the painter, Mr. Hubert." 
 
 Valeria was pleased. " Oh ! I have wished to see 
 him. Is he nice ? " 
 
 " Such a dear old Turveydrop ! " Miss Cromo said 
 affectionately, while she wiped with great care a 
 pretty Dresden cup. "And I suppose that his wife 
 will be with him, a die-away creature who pretends 
 to be sick, and is well as you or I." 
 
 Valeria found the book, cut the leaves, opened at 
 random, and read : 
 
 " We caught a prize in our nets to-day, 
 
 As we drew the shining mackerel home ; 
 In the midst of the quivering rainbow lay 
 A face as white as the cold sea-foam." 
 
 " If it had been anything but mackerel ! " Miss 
 Cromo remarked. " They are as bad as onions." 
 
 Valeria turned the leaves : " Here is one called 
 ' Fulgura Frango.' It begins with a description of a 
 tempest, and a note explains that the Liberian basilica 
 is referred to, that there are five bells, and that the 
 campanone is named Maria Assunta. Here is the 
 ringing : 
 
 "When, like an angel voice, there fell, 
 
 Sudden and sweet and bright, 
 Three great golden strokes of a bell 
 
 Into the stormy night. 
 And four great golden strokes of a bell, 
 
 As they ring at dawn of day, 
 Out through the tempest's deafening swell, 
 
 Cleft their musical way. 
 There were wind and thunder echoing far, 
 
 And the wild rain's headlong fall ; 
 But the bells of my queen of basilicas 
 
 Were ringing over them all 1
 
 80 BY THE TIBER. 
 
 " ' Glory to God ! ' (sang the major bell), 
 
 ' He has made all things that be. 
 He is Three in One ; and from heaven to hell 
 
 There is no God but He.' 
 And the four bells sang out, clear and bright, 
 
 ' Glory to God ! Amen. 
 Forever and ever ' (through the raging night), 
 
 ' And ever, and ever, Amen.' 
 The faithful heart rejoiced aloud 
 
 At the chorus clear and sweet: 
 ' Maria Assnnta is walking the cloud 
 
 With her beautiful shining feet ! ' 
 
 " ' I am blest ' (she sang down out of the skies), 
 
 ' With chrism and water and prayer ; 
 And I break the thunderbolt as it flies, 
 
 And scatter the clouds of air. 
 I call the people, I call the priest, 
 
 I mourn the faithful dead ; 
 And I ring a pfean of joy for the feast.' 
 
 ' Amen ! ' the chorus said. 
 And while she sang so glad and strong, 
 
 Over and over again, 
 And in and out of her steady song, 
 
 They braided their bright ' Arnen.' " 
 
 " They do ring so," Valeria said, interrupting her- 
 self. " Maria Assunta, sonorous and slow, and the 
 others dancing about her." 
 
 "Very likely," replied Miss Cromo, reaching a 
 feather duster up to a very ugly majolica plate on the 
 wall. " And I dare say Clara Vine believes devoutly 
 that the lightning snaps in pieces under their feet 
 like macaroni. She is very superstitious." 
 
 "'Comme toutes les ames poetiques,'" quoted Vale- 
 ria, and closed the book, and laid it in solitary state on 
 a little table beside the finest arm-chair in the room. 
 
 " Oh, how provoking ! " Miss Cromo exclaimed 
 suddenly. " There goes Mrs. Gordon's coal-gas ! 
 They never kindle their fire till the last minute, and 
 for half an hour their gas comes down my chimney. 
 I believe she does it on purpose." 
 
 Valeria hastened to open a window. Miss Cromo
 
 BLACK SPIRITS AND WRITE, 81 
 
 gave a little scream. " Don't ! I never open my win- 
 dows in the winter. I will burn a pastile." 
 
 " But the gas will be in the room all the same," 
 Valeria said. 
 
 " No one will perceive it when I have lighted a 
 pastile," suiting the action to the word. 
 
 The company began to come, and Miss Cromo's 
 nostrils breathed the odorous smoke with perfect con- 
 tentment; while Valeria, who would fain have opened 
 every window, and shaken all shakable articles out in 
 the fresh west-wind, hated the perfume for the poison 
 hidden in it, and fancied that her whole being was 
 full of carbonic-acid gas. 
 
 But she watched with pleasure the graceful ease 
 and cordiality with which Miss Cromo received her 
 guests. Whatever she might say about them behind 
 their backs, she certainly was charming to their 
 faces. The arrival of Mr. Hubert, her " dear old Tur- 
 veydrop," was hailed with murmured rejoicings, in- 
 tended for his ear alone. She wanted him to talk 
 with a very distinguished lady who was not accus- 
 tomed to the slip-shod manners of people in general ; 
 " and you are so courtly ! " 
 
 As for Mrs. Hubert, " if you had not come to-day, I 
 should have sent this very evening to inquire if you 
 were ill. I have been so anxious !" and "Mr. Whitney ! 
 I did not hope that you would remember me when 
 so many shining people are seeking your society. I 
 wrote begging you to come; but I was afraid you 
 would not." 
 
 " Mr. Whitney, my dear ? " she had said to Valeria 
 the day before ; " certainly I know him. The dear 
 old snob ! I could twist him around my fingers." 
 
 Dr. Kraus came in, and bowed profoundly before 
 her. He was, apparently, invisible to her eyes. He 
 had been only too visible for the last fifteen min- 
 utes, talking in the outer drawing-room with Lilian 
 6
 
 82 BY THE TIBER. 
 
 Marshall. He watched his opportunity, caught her 
 glance, and made another solemn and reverential in- 
 clination. The spot where he stood was a void to Miss 
 Cromo. The poor little man looked distressed, but 
 firmly resolved to do his penance, if it should keep 
 him there bowing alternately to the profile, full face, 
 or back of his hostess all the afternoon. 
 
 " If you do not instantly speak to that man, I will 
 pinch you when they are all gone away!" Valeria 
 whispered to her. 
 
 "Ah! good morning," Miss Cromo said to him. 
 Then, more sharply, " Why don't you pick up Mrs. 
 Smith's glove ? Don't you see that she has dropped it ? 
 A gentleman should learn to do those things." 
 
 He bowed again profoundly, this time to Miss 
 Cromo's back, with an expression not devoid of 
 anger, and obediently picked up the glove. 
 
 " I wonder he does n't pick it up in his mouth, like 
 a little dog," Valeria thought, looking at him with 
 contempt. " If he had had manliness enough to turn 
 his back and walk out of the room the first time she 
 overlooked him, she would have written him a sweet 
 little note to-morrow, asking why he did n't come here 
 to-day." 
 
 A nice-looking couple came in, youthful, with very 
 pleasant manners. The gentleman's face, though no- 
 ticeably unsmiling, was very agreeable. Miss Cromo 
 introduced him to Valeria, Dr. Lacelles. 
 
 She had heard Mr. O'Hara and Miss Cromo talk of 
 Dr. Lacelles that day at table. "He is an ass!" the 
 Irishman had said; and Miss Cromo had responded 
 with a laugh, " Yes, a solemn ass ! " 
 
 " If," Valeria reflected, " everybody here should be 
 suddenly bewitched so as to be forced to say to each 
 other's faces what they have said behind their backs, 
 what a scattering there would be ! " 
 
 A pretty young woman appeared in the door, a
 
 BLACK SPIRITS AND WHITE. 83 
 
 drooping creature, hesitating there with a light poise, 
 as if a breeze had blown her so far, and would pres- 
 ently float her in. 
 
 " Oh, Miss Vine ! " Miss Crorno exclaimed, going to 
 meet her with eager affection. 
 
 " Our American Sappho !" she said, presenting her 
 to some one. " If you have not read her poems, do 
 so at once. I know them by heart. While you read 
 you will imagine yourself in Athens in the golden 
 age. She sounds every chord. There is one poern 
 on the fishermen which would make your flesh creep. 
 Then the ' Fulgura Frango ' is superb. Such a de- 
 scription of a storm ! Miss Ellsworth was perfectly 
 entranced by it, and you know Miss Ellsworth is a 
 judge, and herself of the craft. Have you read her 
 last story in the Aurora, ' My Dog Tray ' ? " 
 
 " Yes ; and I wondered if it were a true story," 
 Miss Vine said, smiling across at Valeria. 
 
 Poor Valeria, who was crimson with annoyance 
 at this display, tried to reply with calmness, "I 
 made the story, but God made the dog." And, 
 watching her first opportunity, she slipped from the 
 room. 
 
 Three ladies, all of them novel-writers, had met in 
 a-corner by the door just as she came out. " What a 
 meeting ! " exclaimed one of them gayly. " We must 
 be Macbeth's witches. What shall we talk about? 
 It ought to be something professional Let 's abuse 
 the critics." 
 
 " No ; let 's abuse the publishers," said the second. 
 
 "We will abuse them both," the first speaker. said, 
 with an air of the greatest satisfaction. " Mrs. Wa- 
 ters shall begin," nodding at the lady who had not 
 spoken. 
 
 " I cannot," she replied softly. " They have been 
 too good to me, they have been my best friends." 
 
 "Behold a woman writer who loves critics and
 
 84 BY THE TIBER. 
 
 publishers!" cried the first speaker. " It only re- 
 mains that she should love the printer and the proof- 
 reader ! And yet, she has two eyes, a nose, and a 
 mouth. Did they never, my dear phenomenon, cut 
 you up the least bit, or ignore you crushingly ? Did 
 they never spoil your most studied passage, or change 
 the sense of it to something that made you want to 
 murder them ? " 
 
 " They have found fault sometimes," Mrs. Waters 
 replied pleasantly. " But the faults were there ; and 
 if I was not aware of them, it was better for me to 
 know. One improves so. I have learned a good deal 
 from the notices of my books ; and sometimes I have 
 been touched by the kindness with which a fault has 
 been pointed out or excused. Of course, now and then, 
 but very rarely, there is one who " She paused to 
 find an expression which should be gentle enough. 
 
 " Who has ears too long for a horse," supplied the 
 first speaker. 
 
 " Oh, I would n't say that ! " exclaimed Mrs. 
 Waters. 
 
 " Of course you would n't, you lamb ! and that is 
 the reason why I have said it for you." 
 
 Valeria passed this Olympian circle, and was in- 
 stantly seized upon by Mrs. Carini, and introduced to 
 a gentleman whom that lady was evidently anxious 
 to get away from, and who apparently was not sorry 
 to lose her. 
 
 " Mr. Allen would like to make your acquaintance. 
 Sit right down here and talk with him." 
 
 " They tell me that you write," began the gentleman, 
 who seemed to be a clergyman. 
 
 " It is n't worth mentioning," she said. " So many 
 people write ! " 
 
 " May I ask what your object is ? " he pursued, with 
 the deliberateness of one who meditates a regular 
 siege.
 
 BLACK SPIRITS AND WHITE. 85 
 
 " I beg your pardon. I 'm afraid I do not quite 
 understand." 
 
 " What do you aim at in what you write ? " 
 
 " I aim at writing a story." 
 
 He remained silent and grave, looking down. 
 Valeria considered. Should she let the matter rest 
 at that ? Or should she frankly say that she had never 
 thought about the matter, and was not prepared to 
 give a reason ? Or should she be amiable, and try to 
 find some of those troublesome whys and wherefores 
 which were always being forgotten ? 
 
 The gentleman turned to her suddenly with a 
 smile on his sober face which was very sweet. " You 
 think me impertinent ! " lie said ; and his voice, los- 
 ing its somewhat hard and formal quality, had a 
 faint vibration and softness in it, as when, opening a 
 piano, after the first sharp click of the lock, and dull 
 thud of the lid, a fold of sleeve or slipping cover 
 brushes the wires, and stirs a little the tunefulness in 
 them. There was music under the calm exterior of 
 this man. 
 
 Valeria's denial was not spoken in words. He 
 surely was not impertinent. He was a kindly, ear- 
 nest man, who could not and would not learn the art 
 of small talk. 
 
 ^ There is nature to praise, for one thing," she said; 
 " and anything is good which has a tendency to 
 draw people out of the city, and make them remem- 
 ber how far more beautiful is the country." 
 
 She paused. He bowed slightly and waited, look- 
 ing down as though he had entered upon a long 
 silence. 
 
 "Then one might give a little harmless amuse- 
 ment, a little timely consolation or courage, or even a 
 warning." 
 
 She waited so long that he was forced to speak, 
 but with the air of one who merely speaks an affirma-
 
 86 BY THE TIBER. 
 
 tion in order that another may proceed. "I have 
 often found one or all of these in books that I have 
 chanced upon." 
 
 " And there is one's own little song to sing over 
 everything that is beautiful and sublime, and one's 
 own little shot to fire at what is evil. And the song 
 and the shot, if they are good for nothing else, are a 
 sfogo." 
 
 Another pause. He would have more. It was 
 stimulating, even irritating.. 
 
 " What can one do," she said, " if a voice that will 
 not be silenced says, ' Write ! ' and, presumptuous or 
 not, one feels that it is the same voice which spoke to 
 St. John ? Inspiration has its handmaidens as well 
 as its apostles. The lighthouse on the headland guides 
 the ship safely over the wide ocean ; but the lamp 
 set in the cottage window shows the returned sailor 
 the way up the grassy lane by night. It was worth 
 while setting the lamp there to have him smile in the 
 dark at the sight of it." 
 
 The gentleman did not care to push too far one 
 whose voice he had heard tremble, and whose eyes, 
 he suspected, had a reason of their own for being 
 cast down. If Valeria had touched music in him, he 
 perceived that he had stirred deep waters in her. 
 Yet he was interested. He liked to know what 
 people mean and are about in their lives, and he was 
 troubled at finding so many who mean nothing more 
 than a bird or a beast might mean, a thicker tree for 
 the nest, or a drier cave for the lair ; a riper cherry to 
 peck, or a finer lamb to rend and devour. 
 
 " Songs to sing ; yes," he said. " But should women 
 fire shots ? Is not charity, rather, their province ? " 
 
 She smiled a challenge in his face. " Does Charity, 
 then, stand by sweetly smiling or only helplessly 
 weeping when wrong is done, neither denouncing the 
 oppressor, nor crying out for help for the oppressed ?
 
 BLACK SPIRITS AND WHITE. 87 
 
 Such a charity would be a rather insignificant mem- 
 ber of the abiding 'these three' of St. Paul. Faith 
 removes mountains ; Hope recounts her visions of 
 what lies behind these mountains, without which 
 Faith would not care to remove them. Does Charity 
 only speak soft words, she the ' greatest of these ' ? 
 And when Justice drops the sword, who shall take 
 it?" 
 
 The minister's cheeks had begun to redden. He 
 forgot the object with which he had begun the con- 
 versation. 
 
 " She is more than justice ! " he said. " She is 
 justice transfigured. Why, when a condemned crimi- 
 nal is recommended to the mercy of the executive, 
 what does it mean but that there are certain circum- 
 stances which the letter of the law does not take 
 cognizance of, but which would render his condemna- 
 tion contrary to the true spirit of justice ? What is 
 the charity of the soul that adores God but a burning 
 sense of what is His due ? Charity animates both 
 Faith and Hope, and strikes down whatever would 
 weaken the arm of the one or dim the vision of the 
 other. When Justice will not strike, the sword 
 belongs to Charity." 
 
 " You have convinced me," Valeria said slyly. 
 
 He dropped his head a little. It was not she, he 
 recollected, who had made objections. 
 
 " Our neighbors think that we are too much in 
 earnest for a reception," she added, seeing that two or 
 three persons were looking at them. " And here is 
 Mrs. Carini swooping down to carry you off." 
 
 Some one was seeking him, and he rose to go. 
 " We have been talking of three ladies, and disputing 
 as to their relative merits," he said, with a faint spar- 
 kle of malice in his expression; "and if we have 
 said no evil of them, it may be because we were not 
 allowed time. It seems to me that our conversation 
 may be suitable to the occasion."
 
 88 BY THE TIBER. 
 
 Valeria resumed her tour of the room, catching a 
 sentence here and there. " Never make an enemy in 
 Rome ! " Mr. O'Hara was saying to some one. " They 
 will do anything here. Last week an Englishman 
 was followed to his apartment in Via Easella, and 
 murdered on the stair close to his door. He was 
 not robbed. There will never be anything done 
 about it." 
 
 Farther on, half out a glass door opening into a 
 garden balcony, Mr. Willis stood talking with Clara 
 Vine. He had broken for her the last scarlet leaf of 
 a woodbine that reached up to the railing, and she, 
 laying it against the back of her delicate glove, was 
 smiling faintly at some thought that it called up. 
 He glanced at her, then over her head at the more 
 brilliant figure of Miss Marshall, who was tranquilly 
 flirting at the other side of the room, then back at 
 her again. It seemed to be a case of " t' other dear 
 creature." 
 
 Miss Marshall's present victim was a painter. 
 
 " You will never come back to America to live ? " 
 she asked reproachfully. 
 
 " No ; I am better off here. America makes a fine 
 perspective for a view of the world, its features are 
 so grandiose; but I prefer Italy for the foreground. 
 You surely do not mean to return." 
 
 " I most certainly shall. I greatly prefer my own 
 country, and I think it my duty to do what I can 
 to improve and beautify it." 
 
 " I 'm not sure but that your going will turn the 
 balance," he murmured, gazing at her. 
 
 Two beautifully dressed women were watching a 
 third, who had just entered, wearing a brown satin 
 dress. 
 
 " She has had it dyed, my dear ! She has had it 
 dyed, just as I knew she would ; and I 've won my 
 gloves. I bet with Anne Grey about it. Anne in-
 
 BLACK SPIRITS AND WHITE. 89 
 
 sisted that she would have it dyed black, because she 
 got an ink-spot on the side breadth the last time she 
 wore it last winter. She has put a bow of ribbon 
 over the spot. Why ! don't you remember the yellow 
 satin that Miss Murray has been wearing everywhere 
 for three years ? Sometimes it was veiled in tulle, 
 sometimes it had black lace flounces, and again she 
 wore it with a brown velvet corsage and bands. When 
 I saw that brown velvet it was new last winter 
 I said at once, she will dye it brown. It's always 
 safest to dye yellow goods brown. And here it is 
 launched on a new existence, and we shall see it all 
 winter, wherever a brown satin can appear. Next 
 winter it will have another change into black. Fortu- 
 nately, one never notices black, unless it is something 
 magnificent. But the yellow was an eyesore. Well, 
 I Ve won my gloves." 
 
 "Perhaps she may have bought a new yellow one 
 just to confound you," whispered the second. " You 
 could n't very well ask her if it is the same." 
 
 " Oh, yes, you could ! You can ask anything if 
 you only do it in the right way. If you are very 
 sweet and cool, you can ask a woman where she stole 
 her pocket-handkerchief." 
 
 " Hush ! " whispered the other, seeing Mr. Willis 
 standing near. 
 
 " ' A chiel 's amang ye takin' notes. ' " 
 
 Next came a fair American tourist, glowing from 
 sight-seeing, who talked with a scion of young Italy, 
 a tall, slight young man with bright eyes, looking out 
 of a serious Eoman face. 
 
 " I am so glad that there is no new thing under the 
 sun ! " she said. " If there were, I should give up. 
 There is so much to see ! But I wish you would n't 
 change anything here. These improvements spoil the 
 picturesque. 1 would like the old times back."
 
 90 BY THE TIBER. 
 
 " You, madam," the Eoman said gravely, but with 
 a deep tremor underneath his voice, " you would be 
 very picturesque in a short red petticoat, no matter if 
 a little soiled and stained, and a white camicia, with 
 a copper vase of water on your head, and your feet 
 bare. An artist would want to paint you so, coming 
 down between gray walls, or standing before an ivy- 
 clad ruin. How would you like it ? " 
 
 " Oh ! of course it 's like the boys and the frogs. 
 But nations, like people, mast be content to take their 
 turn ; and now it is America's turn. It is like the 
 rousing of the clans in old Scotland, this race of 
 the nations to waken the world. You have had your 
 time, and we hold the torch now." 
 
 The Roman's eyes flashed through the sudden tears 
 that filled them. " Italy shall yet be the torch-bearer 
 a third time," he said. "We slept. We were not 
 dead ! " 
 
 His companion looked at him, then silently dropped 
 her eyes. She felt as though she had unwittingly 
 insulted his mother. 
 
 How touching is that patriotism of theirs, so 
 wounded and so fiery ! How jealous they were of 
 every glance that fell upon their own Italia in those 
 first days when she stood with dishevelled locks, and 
 wide dazzled eyes half incredulous of freedom, and 
 breast still panting from under the hoofs that had 
 trampled her! As her stained and tattered robes 
 slipped down, they caught about her the glories of her 
 past, and pinned them with a sword. And, " She shall 
 be the torch-bearer yet a third time ! " they said. 
 
 " Long live Italia ! " Valeria said to herself, and 
 passed by, going to Miss Cromo's apartment again. 
 
 That lady was speaking to Miss Chaplin, who had 
 just come in, and was looking at a small crayon 
 portrait that she had not seen before. 
 
 " How do you like it ? Burton brought it to me
 
 BLACK SPIRITS AND WHITE. 91 
 
 last night as a surprise. I had not known that he 
 was doing it." 
 
 " Is it meant for you ? " exclaimed Miss Chaplin. 
 " Why, it looks like a girl of twenty." 
 
 Miss Cromo turned with an angry laugh to a gen- 
 tleman beside her. "You see how we old women 
 hate each other ! " she cried. 
 
 Miss Chaplin blushed slightly. " No," she said. 
 " Burton has one in his studio that is just like you." 
 
 " It looks a hundred years old ! " cried Miss Cromo. 
 " You see, Mr. Smith, how we old women hate each 
 other." 
 
 The sunset faded in the western windows, stars and 
 candles were lighted, and people began to go away. 
 With the last echoes of Ave Maria the last guests 
 disappeared, and the belated dinner-table was pre- 
 pared in Casa Passarina. 
 
 Miss Cromo called Valeria to her after dinner. 
 " Come and talk with me a little while," she said. 
 " Since you have been guilty of the wonderful dissi- 
 pation of dining, you cannot think of going to bed 
 now." 
 
 Valeria followed her with pleasure into the de- 
 serted room, where a wood fire, fallen into coals, filled 
 all the place with a red glow, and glistened on the 
 many ornaments. Another log was thrown on, and 
 they drew their arm-chairs up before the blaze, and 
 talked, screen in hand. 
 
 " How I like to have you with me ! " Miss Cromo 
 said. " We must go away together next summer. 
 Where do you think of going ? " 
 
 " It is hard to tell. I wish to go very early in the 
 season, and to some quiet country place. I have no 
 experience here, you know. I have heard that the 
 small towns are not very practicable, all the best sites 
 in them being occupied by villas, or convents, so that 
 strangers have to live in the midst of dingy narrow
 
 92 BY THE TIBER. 
 
 streets where the view, and even the air, is lost. Mr. 
 Willis says he feels angry every time he visits one 
 of those paesi, and sees what a waste of beauty there is 
 all about, the only idea of the class of people one 
 could live with being to huddle as closely as possible 
 together. The convents, he says, have all beautiful 
 positions, with gardens and bits of forest, and the best 
 views possible." 
 
 "The convents, yes!" Miss Cromo said sharply. 
 " Here in Italy one promise of the Scriptures, at least, 
 is fulfilled, ' The meek possess the earth.' It pays to 
 resign the world here, or, for the matter of that, al- 
 most anywhere. The vow of poverty is worth at 
 least a thousand dollars a year. I wonder some 
 benevolent person doesn't propose that the starving 
 poor should all take the vow of poverty." 
 
 " Our Lord promised that whoever would be will- 
 ing to lose his life for His sake should find it," 
 Valeria said gravely ; " and that to those who devoted 
 themselves to Him, without thinking of food or rai- 
 ment, their Heavenly Father should provide those 
 things. I know what your opinions are ; but please 
 do not express them to me. A discussion between 
 us would not produce any good result. I am devoted 
 to my religion, and do not wish to hear anything 
 against it. I attack no one else." 
 
 "I could be good if. I had you always with me," 
 Miss Cromo exclaimed, with a sudden change of voice. 
 "You do not make hypocritical pretences of piety, 
 like the rest. It is they who have disgusted me with 
 religion. Stay by me, my darling ! You can do me 
 immense good. And you may scold me whenever 
 you will. If I had always had you,. I should have 
 been a good Catholic." 
 
 Nothing is more tempting to some women, to most 
 women, indeed, than the offer of a missionary station 
 at their own door ; and the greater the sinner, or the
 
 BLACK SPIRITS AND WHITE. 93 
 
 more benighted the heathen, the better pleased are 
 they. That a remarkably intelligent, hard-headed, 
 worldly, and mocking little woman, nearly twenty 
 years older than herself, was all ready and eager to 
 be converted by her, did not strike Valeria at the 
 moment as unlikely. That she was being enter- 
 tained as she had that afternoon seen the " Sappho 
 of America " entertained, did not occur to her. It is 
 one thing to tell lies at a reception, and another thing 
 to tell lies tete-a-tete. A sudden enthusiasm sprang 
 up in her heart. She would do all that she could for 
 Miss Cromo. She would bring her Catholic friends 
 to see her. She would ask Monsignor Fenelon to call, 
 and she would persuade Miss Cromo to attend to her 
 religious duties better. And how fond she would be 
 of her ! It all flashed through her mind in an instant, 
 and her answer was ready almost before the other 
 had done speaking. 
 
 " The less you say about my goodness, the better. 
 I am not a hypocrite, however. I will find some one 
 who is better fitted than I am to correct you of your 
 naughtinesses. I would do anything for you." And, 
 rising, she bent over her companion, and kissed 
 her. 
 
 The firelight shone brightly over them. Miss Cromo 
 held both Valeria's hands, and kissed them, then 
 looked up into her face. " I really do want to be 
 good, dear ! " she said. The expression of childlike 
 ingenuousness was admirable, but it did not quite suit 
 the elderly face, which had settled into quite other 
 lines. It reminded Valeria of the mature Mrs. Frances 
 Keinble Butler reading the part of Juliet. 
 
 She went back to her seat. 
 
 " And now tell me what you saw at Mrs. Gordon's," 
 Miss Cromo said, changing the scenes. 
 
 " Several persons I knew were there. Among them 
 was Monsignor Nestore."
 
 94 BY THE TIBER. 
 
 "You must ask him to come to see me," Miss 
 Crorno said. 
 
 " Certainly ! And the Countess Belvedere was leav- 
 ing just as I went in. .1 was sorry; for she interests 
 me strangely, I cannot say why. It may be an air 
 of mystery which I fancy hangs about her. She has 
 such an odd way of looking at people. Her eyes 
 plunge into them, then slide off like a shadow. I 
 have never heard her speak. Perhaps that would 
 destroy the illusion." 
 
 "It certainly would," Miss Cromo replied with 
 bitterness. " She knows how to use her eyes ; but as 
 for her tongue, she can talk only gossip. She is per- 
 fectly ignorant. And there is no mystery whatever 
 about her. She is simply an infamous woman. She 
 had not been married more than three months before 
 people were talking of her." 
 
 Valeria sat and listened in displeased silence to a 
 recital given in language as scandalous as the facts 
 related, more disgusted with Miss Cromo than with 
 the Countess Belvedere. Brought up in a New Eng- 
 land town where scandals were almost unknown, in 
 a pure home where modesty of conduct was always 
 observed, and where no unclean word was ever uttered, 
 and intimate with a choice literature from which 
 every disagreeable element was banished, she had 
 always taken for granted that decent language was an 
 indispensable component of decent morals, and that 
 such expressions as she was now listening to with a 
 shiver of disgust could be used only by such persons 
 as the speaker was describing. 
 
 "And this woman," Miss Cromo concluded, " is the 
 idol of such pious saints as Mrs. Gordon, Miss Chap- 
 lin, and Miss Pendleton. They either pretend that 
 they do not believe, or they suddenly recollect that 
 they must be charitable. Hypocrites ! " 
 
 " Don't excite yourself," Valeria said lightly. " Tell
 
 BLACK SPIRITS AND WHITE. 95 
 
 me why you gave such a terrible slap to Miss Chaplin 
 this afternoon. It was too bad. You know she is 
 very delicate and frail. I saw her hand tremble. 
 Besides, the picture does look younger than you, 
 though you look wonderfully young and pretty." 
 
 Miss Cromo began to laugh, half amused, and still 
 half angry. " Oh, I have the whip hand of Frances," 
 she said. " Sometimes she tries to make little disa- 
 greeable speeches. She would like to be disagree- 
 able if she dared. But I have the whip hand of 
 her." 
 
 " You shall never have the whip hand of me, little 
 woman," Valeria said in a caressing tone. 
 - " As if I could want to, you darling ! " was the 
 fond reply. " It is rather you who command me. You 
 make me do as you like, and you say the most horrible 
 things to me." 
 
 " Oh, but you do not know what a number of horri- 
 ble things I don't say, my dear," Valeria returned. 
 She had caught the tone of Miss Cromo's honeyed 
 audacities, and found it convenient. " There is a 
 Spanish proverb that is a propos : ' You see what I 
 drink, but not the thirst I suffer.' Sometimes I have 
 longed to shake you. For instance, when you kept 
 Dr. Kraus bowing like a Chinese mandarin this after- 
 noon. I wonder you dare do such things ; and I 
 wonder still more that people will let you." 
 
 Miss Cromo was laughing again. " Of course they 
 will let me ! The motto of success is, ' De 1'audace, 
 et de 1'audace, et toujours de 1'audace.' Just assume 
 that you are something, and stand your ground firmly 
 that you are, and people will believe you." 
 
 Valeria looked at the speaker a moment in silence, 
 at the small head thrown back, the resolute face with 
 its steely smile, and the lady-like attitude, reposing 
 without lounging. " I do not wonder that you have 
 a contempt for most people," she said presently. " It
 
 96 BY THE TIBER. 
 
 is quite true that very few of them have any mind 
 of their own. It is, perhaps, the secret of many per- 
 sons' power : contempt of those they lead. They 
 know the weaknesses of their friends, and of human 
 nature in general, and while pretending not to see 
 them, they play upon them. What a number of 
 puppets you must have ! " 
 
 She spoke gently, even languidly ; but was con- 
 scious of a very decided feeling of mingled admiration 
 and dislike, admiration for the strength of will, the 
 wit, and the energy of character of this woman, and 
 dislike of the use to which she put them. 
 
 Miss Cromo bit her lip. She scarcely liked to see 
 her principles so barely presented. " I have the 
 greatest respect and regard for my friends," she de- 
 clared. " I do all I can to please them ; and it is but 
 natural that I should expect a return of complacency." 
 
 " Of course I put the subject crudely," Valeria re- 
 plied. " I had, you may say, made a visit to the kitchen 
 to see what was the foundation of the wonderful 
 dish the cook had sent up. Of course it is combined 
 and sugared and garnished by an artist. S'intende. 
 And you do try to please, and succeed too. I find 
 you charming when you behave well. I am not sure 
 but you could drive me a little if you used the whip 
 softly. And now, good night, dear. I shall ask some 
 of my friends to come to see you. I want my friends 
 to be yours." 
 
 She bent over Miss Cromo and kissed her, and 
 stood there a moment smoothing her soft hair. She 
 felt a desire, almost a need, to love her. It is easier 
 to love one who is strong. And surely there must be 
 some real honesty under all the worldliness, some 
 honor and generosity which affection could reach. It 
 was not strange that she, being a woman, and alone, 
 had learned the necessity of wearing armor ; and who 
 knew how many blows she had herself received before
 
 TRYING TO BE "GOOD." 97 
 
 she learned to strike so well ? " I think that if I were 
 hard pushed, I also could strike a hard blow," Valeria 
 thought, still touching the silent head that leaned 
 against her arm. 
 
 Then there were other things that had been told her. 
 which had aroused her compassion. Miss Cromo had 
 once been poor, and had had to earn her own bread 
 till an opportune inheritance made her independent. 
 And, worse than all, she had had to struggle against the 
 menace of hereditary insanity, to watch and fear, lest, 
 yielding weakly, she should be overcome by worse than 
 death. Who could say that this poison taint in her 
 blood was not the cause of some of her faults ? 
 
 The head was lifted from her arm. " Love me ! " 
 came in a soft murmur. " Only love me ! " 
 
 " I will love you if you will let me," Valeria re- 
 plied. 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 TRYING TO BE "GOOD." 
 
 FULL of this new affection, Valeria went the next 
 morning to Monsignor Fenelon and told him all 
 her story. She had quite reckoned on him, knowing 
 how beautifully his stern ideas of duty were tempered 
 by the sweetest charity arid by an almost poetical 
 enthusiasm. 
 
 He heard her quite through, and hesitated a little 
 before speaking. " I should be sorry to destroy a 
 pleasant illusion for you, or to discourage you in 
 thinking the best you can of any one," he said ; " but 
 I am afraid that you are deceived. I have been so 
 several times, and I have no more confidence in her. 
 That she should, or should not, be a Catholic is not 
 7
 
 98 BY THE TIBER. 
 
 the point. I have many Protestant friends whom I 
 value very highly. The trouble is that you cannot 
 depend upon her in any way. Her sole aim and am- 
 bition is social success, and to that she would sacrifice 
 anything or anybody. She seems to me like a per- 
 son who would die grasping her worldly possessions, 
 and crying out, ' Oh, my furniture ! Oh, my ruba ! ' " 
 
 " You will not go, then ? " Valeria asked, chilled 
 and disappointed. 
 
 " Why should I contribute to her social ambition, 
 for it is nothing but that ?. Yet I will go soon and call 
 upon her." 
 
 " I shall stand by her," Valeria said a little defiantly, 
 rising to go. 
 
 " I wish you to," he replied quickly. " And I am 
 sorry that I cannot take the part you ask me to take. 
 I will do so gladly whenever I can feel that she is 
 sincere, and I will gladly own that I have been wrong. 
 I hope that you do not think me too severe." 
 
 "I think you strict, Monsignore," Valeria replied. 
 " But I also think that you have earned the right to 
 be so." 
 
 The first failure was rather disheartening ; but she 
 could not give up without one effort more. Her next 
 appeal was, to a lady. 
 
 " But what are you laughing at ? " she asked, stop- 
 ping with her story half finished. 
 
 " Pray excuse me ! " the lady said. " I am laughing 
 at your simplicity. Did she kneel before you, put her 
 hands together, and ask you to hear her say the ' Now 
 I lay me down to sleep ' ? " 
 
 " She said nothing but what was reasonable," Valeria 
 replied, much offended. " I fail to see what there is 
 to laugh at in the subject." 
 
 " Wait till you see it develop," the lady said, " and 
 then you will not be vexed with me. Why, my dear, 
 if she were in Constantinople, she would fight for
 
 TRYING TO BE "GOOD." 99 
 
 Mohammedanism like a Turk, and she would never 
 rest till she had become head sultaua." 
 
 Tired and vexed, Valeria went home, liking Miss 
 Cromo better than ever, since no one else seemed to 
 have any real regard for her. " I will stand by her ! " 
 she resolved. " And I will go and tell her now that 
 Monsiguor Fenelon is coming to see her." 
 
 Professor Wagner and Mr. Willis were with Miss 
 Cromo, and she was laughing. "I saw Mr. Adams 
 this morning," she said, "and he is raving about Lilian 
 Marshall. He says she has the liquid eyes of Dome- 
 nichino's Cumrean Sibyl. Of course I agreed with 
 him. I always agree with all the raptures of a lover. 
 And Lilian has fine eyes, and that very way of roll- 
 ing them up that you see in the Borghese palace. 
 But that is nothing to the way she has of showing 
 her eyelashes and her ear. Did you ever see her do 
 that, Mr. Willis?" 
 
 Mr. Willis, with rather a bad grace, protested that 
 he never had. 
 
 " It is one of the loveliest effects !" the lady went on 
 with enthusiasm. " She sits with her head turned a 
 little aside, and slightly drooping, and her eyes fixed on 
 the hem of her last flounce. Then she smiles faintly, as 
 if at some sweet thought. I Ve seen five men sitting 
 round in a semicircle and staring at that effect with 
 their mouths open. Men are such dear trusting crea- 
 tures ! It is always the left ear she shows. The right, 
 unfortunately, was injured by being badly pierced. 
 She retains that position about two minutes ; then 
 she moves a little, and gives her audience time to 
 shut their mouths before she looks up. In that way 
 she remains unconscious of their admiration. She is 
 such a pretty, clever creature ! " 
 
 This was to pay her two visitors for having been 
 remiss in their attentions to herself since Miss Mar- 
 shall's arrival.
 
 100 BY THE TIBER. 
 
 " And now," she added, " I must beg you to excuse 
 me, for I have promised to go to Santa Maria Mag- 
 giore with Miss Ellsworth, and it must be time for 
 the first vespers." 
 
 " You are a wretch to speak so of Miss Marshall," 
 Valeria said, as they drove away from the door. " I 
 have half a mind not .to go to church with you." 
 
 " Oh, you can fling some holy w r ater in my face as 
 we enter, and I shall probably disappear with an odor 
 of brimstone," was the laughing answer. 
 
 They went up to the church door, where a good 
 many people were entering, among them two dis- 
 tinguished-looking Monsignori. Great simplicity of 
 manners is observed in Roman churches. With that 
 exquisite good taste which they have derived from 
 the saints, it is not considered by Italians to be fitting 
 that worldly distinctions should be made prominent 
 in the house of God. Valeria, therefore, was about 
 to do as others do, and pass by, when Miss Cromo 
 touched her arm. 
 
 " I am not pious, but I know my manners," she 
 said; and, drawing back for the clergymen, made them 
 a reverential and rather old-fashioned courtesy. 
 
 The two porporati, not accustomed to such demon- 
 strations, passed by without appearing to be aware of 
 the salutation. 
 
 " Pigs ! " remarked Miss Cromo, recovering her equi- 
 librium. 
 
 They went in. " I shall look at you, and do every- 
 thing that I see you do," she added. " I intend to 
 behave with the most abject propriety. Where shall 
 we post ourselves ? Or shall we walk about ? " 
 
 " We must 'first go to the altar of the Blessed Sac- 
 rament. As you know your manners so well, I sup- 
 pose you see the propriety of first paying your respects 
 to the Master of the house." 
 
 They crossed the church through the crowd that
 
 TRYING TO BE "GOOD." 101 
 
 was constantly moving to and fro with the subdued 
 greeting of friends, and low-voiced talking in groups, 
 which make of a great Roman function merely a 
 magnificent reception in honor of the saint or the 
 event commemorated. Here and there, along the walls 
 or in nooks of chapels, were a few silent lookers-on 
 or figures bowed in devotion. 
 
 The two ladies found places on the steps of a con- 
 fessional, and seated themselves there. 
 
 " I was afraid I would have to go about with you 
 to make my courtesy to all the saints," Miss Cromo 
 remarked, settling herself comfortably against the con- 
 fessional ; " and I am really too old." 
 
 " I do not give so much thought to the saints as I 
 ought perhaps," Valeria replied. "When I look up- 
 ward I see only Christ. I reverence the saints, of 
 course ; but I often forget them. It is a defect." 
 
 "And God?" asked Miss Cromo, looking at her 
 companion. 
 
 Valeria returned her look. " Why, Christ is God ! " 
 she said. 
 
 An expression of derision, sharp and bitter, passed 
 over Miss Cromo's face, and her lips parted to speak. 
 But, seeing Valeria color, she became serious for a 
 moment. " I wish I had your faith, dear," she said. 
 " You see I was a Unitarian before I became a Cath- 
 olic, and I 'in afraid I was only plated over, and 
 that the base metal is coming out through." And she 
 began to laugh again. 
 
 " I presume that you were the same kind of Uni- 
 tarian that you are Catholic," Valeria remarked. 
 " My father was Unitarian, and he had a reverent 
 soul." 
 
 Miss Cromo's eyes emitted a little sparkle of anger, 
 while her lips were still smiling. " It depends en- 
 tirely on the shape of head with which one is born," 
 she declared. " Now, my head is deficient in the
 
 102 BY THE TIBER. 
 
 bump of reverence. I don't know whose fault it is, 
 and I don't mean to accuse any one." 
 
 " I think it depends on the sort of heart one has," 
 Valeria replied coldly. " Hush ! Here comes the 
 chapter." 
 
 The clergy were coming out of the sacristy, and 
 passing across the church toward the Borghese chapel, 
 where the Immaculata was celebrated. Miss Crorno 
 watched them with enthusiasm. "What beautiful 
 purple silk stockings ! and what lovely yellow clouds 
 along their ermine! And as for the lace I should 
 like to get behind one or two of them with a pair of 
 scissors." 
 
 The two got up and began to walk about ; saluted 
 some of their acquaintances ; went into the chapel of 
 the Blessed Sacrament to look at the veiled Tamar 
 between her twin boys, and the wolfs head that 
 nature had taken a fancy to paint in a block of Egyp- 
 tian marble ; came out again and listened to a hymn 
 sung with a full choir and orchestra, the music of 
 which rolled in long waves of complex harmony that, 
 from time to time, cast up the refrain, like a pearl on 
 the shore, Ave Maris Stella,; then, with a rush of 
 advancing sound, caught it away, sweeping it to and 
 fro, hiding it, and again tossing it up, Ave Maris 
 Stella, with a breaking froth of Aves all about. 
 
 Then Miss Cromo said that she must go home. " I 
 want to finish my article for the Aurora, and send it 
 by to-night's mail," she said. " And I shall come in 
 and read it to you before posting it." 
 
 They went home, and after dinner Miss Cromo 
 came to Valeria's room with her bonnet on, and the 
 manuscript in her hand. " I shall have barely time 
 to hurry through it," she said, " for it is later than 
 I thought. I have already read it to Miss Chaplin." 
 
 Valeria wondered a little what extraordinary sort 
 of article this could be which was so displayed, and 
 prepared to hear it with interest.
 
 TRYING TO BE "GOOD:' 103 
 
 It began with the meeting of the authoress with a 
 friend from another country, who, after the first salu- 
 tation, suddenly turned to her and asked, " Will you 
 tell me, pray, what is the root of the Catholic diffi- 
 culty in liome ? " 
 
 " You see, it is the same question which was asked 
 of you," the reader said, glancing up with her hard, 
 bright smile, then resuming her reading. The article 
 was an answer to this question. 
 
 Valeria sat stupefied, not hearing a word. This, 
 then, was Miss Cromo's motive in asking her what 
 and when she was going to write, for a pitiful 
 theft like this ! And what had she hoped to gain ? 
 Had she hoped to intercept her thus every month, 
 and drive her out of the path ? "I could give her 
 a thousand ideas and never miss them ! " thought 
 Valeria, with a swell of contemptuous pride. 
 
 The reading ended, and the reader folded up her 
 manuscript. " How do you like it ? " she asked, 
 without looking up. Her nostrils had a slight ten- 
 sion, her lips were slightly compressed, as if she half 
 expected a combat, and were prepared for it. 
 
 " Oh, of course it is quite charming ! " Valeria 
 replied, drawling her words a little. " I am so much 
 obliged ! " 
 
 Miss Cromo looked up. " Have you sent your ar- 
 ticle yet, my dear ? " 
 
 " I told you that I should not send it for a 
 week or ten days, and it is now not more than 
 four." 
 
 " What subject are you going to write on ? " was 
 the next question, put with a resolute smile. 
 
 " I told you the subject, too." 
 
 Miss Cromo's countenance changed. She had meant 
 to oust Valeria from her connection with the Fair 
 Play, if possible ; and she believed that her article 
 had exhausted the subject, as it would have done,
 
 104 BY THE TIBER. 
 
 indeed, if the study of encyclopaedias and dictionaries 
 would have done so. 
 
 " Well, I must go now," she said, and hurried away, 
 only half satisfied. 
 
 Valeria opened her windows wide. " Come in, pure 
 tramontaua, and blow all that is left of her out 
 of the room !" She took up a book. " Come, sweet 
 thoughts, and drive all that is left of her out of my 
 mind ! " 
 
 In two minutes she was among the gods. 
 
 The God of gods be thanked for pure air and 
 poetry ! 
 
 CHAPTEK XIII. 
 
 FLITTING. 
 
 THE weeks slipped away. The history of one 
 would have answered for that of the week fol- 
 lowing, by changing the date. In January Mrs. Grey 
 was called to France by the illness of a relative, 
 and Valeria found herself with no acquaintances ex- 
 cept those which she had made in llome. It was 
 unpleasant. 
 
 Many persons were very kind and civil ; but their 
 kindness was such as people show to those whom 
 they meet frequently, find agreeable, and forget when 
 they are out of sight. All had their own affairs to 
 attend to. She was on their visiting-list ; but there 
 was no one upon whose heart her name was written. 
 People are never very much pleased with one who 
 withdraws from that round of receptions and card- 
 leaving which is called society, even though such a 
 retirement might be reasonably explained. In this
 
 FLITTING. 105 
 
 busy world few have leisure to examine ; they have 
 only time to judge. Therefore some concluded that 
 their attentions were not properly esteemed, and 
 decided not to press them. They were not to blame. 
 They exerted themselves to fulfil their social duties, 
 and expected others to do the same. They could not 
 weigh nicely to find when the exertion might be too 
 great. 
 
 One disillusion caused Valeria great disappointment. 
 She had fancied that, in foreign countries, Americans 
 stood by each other, and that they would have a cer- 
 tain union, which did not mean intimacy, indeed, but 
 which would give to each a sense of protection, and 
 at need, the strength of the whole. It was not so. 
 The greater number of those of whom she knew 
 much, either personally or from report, were divided 
 by petty jealousies and dissensions, and seemed to 
 rejoice in each other's misfortunes. They struggled 
 and intrigued for fine acquaintances, and, when they 
 were successful in obtaining them, assumed a state 
 that was pitifully ridiculous. The English had more 
 dignity. They were proud of being English. Amer- 
 icans were ashamed of being American, and longed 
 to be European, and to efface their nationality as 
 much as possible. 
 
 Of course this was not true of all ; but it was true 
 of all whom she saw much of. There were finer 
 souls, who honored their country and themselves ; but 
 she looked at them from a distance. Circumstances 
 did not bring them together ; and Valeria never 
 sought any one. 
 
 It was therefore with a regret not unmingled with 
 anxiety that she saw Mrs. Grey leave Eome. Mon- 
 signor Fenelon, too, was going ; and she had depended 
 greatly on him. A diplomatic mission had been 
 offered to him, and he would go away in the spring. 
 She would be left to fight the little battles of pinches
 
 106 BY THE TIBER. 
 
 and pin-pricks quite alone. " It will be like living 
 in a swarm of mosquitoes without a net," she thought, 
 and then added, with a sort of fear, "I hope that 
 they may not prove worse than mosquitoes !" 
 
 " People will forget you if you withdraw so," said 
 a Mrs. Barry, whom the world remembered to call a 
 bore. 
 
 " I must bear it then," Valeria replied. " I am not 
 rich enough to find pleasure in society ; it is a labor 
 to me, and I am very busy. There are some whom 
 I should be sorry to lose." 
 
 She had gone to visit Mrs. Waters, a pleasant lady 
 writer, and had met several ladies in her sala. 
 
 " I am not very rich, but I like to see my friends," 
 said another lady. " I accept the invitations they are 
 so kind as to give me, and am happy to entertain 
 them when I can." And she held her head very 
 much back, pressed her lips together, and looked 
 down. Keproof was in every crease of her gown, 
 and her very bonnet-strings bristled with a sense of 
 what was due to " society." 
 
 This was Miss Murray, whom her kind friends had 
 called " Yellow Satin " the year before, and had 
 already renamed " Dyed Brown," and it was the 
 identical historical gown which now frowned at Vale- 
 ria. These friends smiled at her ; they laughed at her 
 reception days, which seldom brought forth more than 
 two carriages and half a dozen visitors. But they 
 perceived that she was in the right way, and was 
 likely to achieve a modest success, especially as 
 she knew how to smile sweetly when she was 
 snubbed. 
 
 " You have nothing else to do," Valeria said to her. 
 " And you have an independent income. It would 
 be a mistake if any one should think that I am pre- 
 tending to despise society. I am simply expressing 
 iny inability to avail myself of the civilities offered
 
 FLITTING. 107 
 
 me. When I have a house, a maid, a carriage, and 
 even only five thousand a year, I will go to visit 
 somebody every day, or invite some one to visit me. 
 But now I cannot consent to worry my life out, to 
 pinch, and plan, and count centessimi, to get a toilet, 
 which will, after all, be outshone by that of every- 
 body about me. Why, my dear Miss Murray, I have 
 such a respect for my friends, that I should not think 
 myself worthy to visit them unless I had diamonds 
 as big as peas." 
 
 This speech giving the lady addressed something 
 to think of, she remained silent. 
 
 " So do / like my friends," Mrs. Barry said, giving 
 Valeria a cold glance. " And I am glad to see them 
 without diamonds." 
 
 A beautiful young lady who had been a social star 
 in nearly every great city on the continent, and whose 
 heart, made for better things, was illy satisfied with 
 such conquests, paused beside Valeria in leaving the 
 room. "I understand you perfectly," she said in a 
 low voice, and held out a slender hand. " If I were 
 going to remain in Eome, I should beg permission to 
 come and see you quietly now and then ; and I hope 
 to visit you later, if it will not be an intrusion." 
 
 "1 should know how to prize a visit from you," 
 Valeria replied. " I confess, I do not care much for 
 the pedestal ; but I admire the statue." 
 
 The ladies went away, one by one. Mrs. Barry 
 came to take a civil, half-friendly leave of Valeria, 
 being after all a good soul, though a stupid one. 
 
 " Take my advice and don't let people forget you," 
 she said. 
 
 " You are so kind ! " said Valeria sweetly. " But I 
 shall be content to be forgotten if you are remem- 
 bered." 
 
 Mrs. Barry went away, considering herself to have 
 been highly complimented.
 
 108 BY THE TIBER. 
 
 Mrs. Waters had signed Valeria to stay after the 
 others. 
 
 " I know so well the trials of a peripatetic writer," 
 she said. " I have tried all the different miseries of 
 it; but the greatest is, I think, to write in a boarding- 
 house. I have a proposal to make to you. A friend 
 of mine has two rooms which she had engaged till 
 the middle of April ; and she has had an invitation 
 to go to Sicily which she is very desirous to accept. 
 But she is responsible for these rooms, having ob- 
 tained them at much less than their real value. I 
 think they would suit you admirably, and you could 
 take them till the 15th of April at her price, which, 
 I am sure, can be no more than you are paying now. 
 They are in the Albergo dell' Oriente." 
 
 " But how could I live alone in a hotel ? " Valeria 
 asked. 
 
 " It is only a lodging hotel. You have every attend- 
 ance, and your coffee, from the family. The dinners 
 are sent in. It is not in the least like a public house. 
 It is perfectly quiet and well-ordered, and the people 
 who go there are chiefly tourists, who are out all day, 
 and who are the best class of strangers in Eome. Peo- 
 ple who come here to study the glories of antiquity 
 for a few weeks will never annoy you. Besides, 
 recommended by me, you will be under the protection 
 of the family. They are respectable, unpretending 
 people, and will be very friendly. Come and see for 
 yourself." 
 
 They went down the street of the Triton, entered a 
 quiet vestibule, which attracted but little notice in 
 that crowded thoroughfare, and up the clean white 
 marble stairs to the third story. The look of every- 
 thing was plain and orderly ; but Valeria observed a 
 point of richness here and there in a bronze or statue, 
 or table bearing a slab of verd-antique or some pre- 
 cious marble.
 
 FLITTING. 109 
 
 The back rooms were reached by galleries, which 
 surrounded three sides of a dim court, the third side 
 running off' behind a church that pushed its little bel- 
 fry of a single arch close above the last gallery. In 
 the arch two bells were hung. When they stepped 
 into this third gallery the noises from the street were 
 but a faint murmur ; when they had readied the end 
 of the last wing, there was a perfect silence. The 
 gallery continued around the corner of the last room, 
 and led to a terrace ; and back of the terrace was a 
 garden full of vines, shrubs, and fruit-trees, with 
 yellowing mandarin oranges, and roses, even now in. 
 January. 
 
 By one of those charming surprises of which the 
 irregular streets of Rome are full, this last chamber, 
 which was three stories from the street, was level 
 with the garden. 
 
 Mrs. Waters opened the door, and Valeria uttered 
 an exclamation of pleasure. It was such a pretty 
 rofltai ! The colored tiles of the floor, the bright au- 
 tumn leaves of the wall-paper, the birds and flowers 
 of the ceiling, the gayly striped green hangings, gave 
 the room a warm and cheerful look, while a superb 
 piece of rich, dark carving, a great mirror and table 
 of cinque-cento work that had belonged to the Prince 
 of Monaco, added to it a certain dignity. Then there 
 were paintings, and small terra-cotta copies of cele- 
 brated statues, and some fine bronzes, and a white 
 column supporting a large vase holding a white lily, 
 and a wood fire in the little fireplace, and a great 
 square of sunshine with the shadow of a bell in it on 
 the floor. 
 
 " It is not common, you see," Mrs. Waters said. 
 " In fact, the people are not common. The landlord is 
 a collector of pictures and antiquities, and has been a 
 sort of artist, I believe. His eldest son is a noted artist 
 in Paris. You have a door and window on the gallery,
 
 110 BY THE TIBER. 
 
 you see, and a door on the terrace. This little door 
 in the terrace leads to a private stair by which you 
 can go out into another street, or into the picture- 
 gallery below there, where the landlord has a large 
 and valuable collection. You can go down any time 
 to see it. It is not now open to the public. This 
 man is a Syrian, the son of a silk-merchant of Mount 
 Lebanon, and has lived in Cairo, in Smyrna, in Trieste, 
 
 111 Vienna, in Venice. He will tell you about the 
 cedars of Lebanon, and the Syrian summer nights, and 
 how they sleep on the house-tops, and wake in the 
 morning with their heads wet with a dew that hurts 
 them no more than it hurts the flowers. I am glad 
 you are pleased ; and if you say the word, the place 
 can be yours on the first of February. That will give 
 you two months and a half, you see." 
 
 It seemed too good to be true ; but it came true, 
 nevertheless, and on the first day of February Valeria 
 found herself the mistress of this charming retreat. 
 
 Her flitting from Casa Passarina was not a very 
 pleasant one ; for the mistress of the house was suffi- 
 ciently displeased at losing two boarders in the middle 
 of the season to be a little disagreeable ; the ladies, 
 who had constantly interrupted her, were unable to 
 see how she could wish for greater tranquillity ; and 
 Miss Cromo, who alternated sharp questions and 
 fond regrets, was disappointed at losing sight of one 
 whom she was beginning to hate bitterly. She. was 
 one of those who wish to keep a strict watch over 
 those they hate. She was irritated by that will which 
 yielded momentarily, then resisted, by the confidence 
 that evaded alike her most insolent inquisition and 
 her most honeyed flatteries ; and the suspicion that 
 Valeria understood and despised her made her furious. 
 
 She came to visit her after a day or two, and ad- 
 mired everything. " You will have a reception-day, 
 of course," she said.
 
 FLITTING. HI 
 
 " Certainly not ! That would be absurd. But I 
 shall be happy to see any one who comes any day 
 after three o'clock." 
 
 " What is this ? " 
 
 Miss Cromo had espied an enormous envelope, with 
 two or three documents and pamphlets half drawn out 
 of it. 
 
 " Look and. see ! I am a shepherdess." 
 
 It was Valeria's diploma as a member of the Arca- 
 dian Academy, with her new Greek name, that flowed 
 like a brook, and several other documents, all orna- 
 mented with the olive-wreath, the crossed shepherd's 
 crooks, the drooping lamb, and the pipes of Pn. 
 
 The names of two distinguished Monsignori were 
 inscribed as having proposed and seconded her elec- 
 tion. 
 
 " It was a surprise to me," Valeria said. " I 
 had not asked it of any one, nor, indeed, thought 
 of it." 
 
 Miss Cromo's face was flaming with anger. She 
 was so angry that she forgot her rule never to own to 
 having been slighted. 
 
 " They would not have done it for me," she said. 
 "I am a member, but I was proposed by my Italian 
 teacher." 
 
 " You are a member ? " Valeria said, ignoring her 
 companion's anger. " How glad I am ! We can go 
 there together." 
 
 " I never go ! " Miss Cromo exclaimed with scorn. 
 "It is an anachronism. The organization ought to 
 have dissolved fifty years ago. Nothing can be more 
 ridiculous. I went once or twice at first, and I never 
 was more bored in my life. We sat there two hours 
 listening to a recitation of what they called original 
 poems that had n't an idea in them, mere rhymed 
 words such as any dunce can string in the Italian 
 language. There was a bishop seated at each side of
 
 112 BY THE TIBER. 
 
 me. One had dirty hands, and the other smelt of 
 tobacco. It was both disgusting and ridiculous." . 
 
 That day she left Valeria without kissing her, or 
 calling her darling. The omission did not cause any 
 grief. 
 
 Monsignor Fenelon had understood and approved 
 of Valeria's flitting ; but Monsignor Nestore had been 
 harder to reconcile. A lady of any age without a 
 companion was to him a very doubtful object ; but a 
 lady in a hotel without a companion was simply not 
 to be thought of. 
 
 She let his first vehement protest effervesce without 
 speaking. What would people say of her ? A young 
 lady alone in a hotel in the midst of a crowd of men ! 
 She should pay some respect to the customs of the 
 people among whom she lived. He was astonished 
 that Monsignor Fenelon should have consented. It 
 was not to be thought of. It was highly improper. 
 He disapproved of the project in toto. Why did she 
 not have a companion, some old woman or some old 
 man, to go about with her ? Why did she not speak ? 
 Why did she not say something ? She did speak 
 when he gave her the opportunity. 
 
 " Dear Monsignore, it is so good of you to care ! " 
 she began ; but got no further. 
 
 " Of course I care. I am devoted to you. I do not 
 wish you to commit an imprudence." 
 
 " But listen a moment. In the first place, I am 
 not a young lady. In the next place, the house is 
 not in the least like a hotel, and I shall not see so 
 many gentlemen, nor see them so freely as where I 
 am. There is a great deal of flirting in Casa Passa- 
 rina, and Miss Cromo has kindly offered me the use 
 of her apartment to receive a friend any time I may 
 want it, and promised that I should not be interrupted. 
 I do not know why she did. I have no use for it. 
 In the Hotel d'Orient I shall live as in a glass case.
 
 FLITTING. 113 
 
 N"o one can approach my room without being seen. 
 But at the same time I shall scarcely ever meet a 
 soul in the house. Only the family will be about 
 me. As to what people will say, they will say just 
 what they wish to. If they are bad, they will be 
 malicious; if good, they will find no fault. And, 
 Monsignore, how in the name of common sense am I 
 to have a companion when I have scarcely money 
 enough for myself ? Besides, I am not a Becky Sharp, 
 to need a sheep-dog. Don't be vexed ! I really wish 
 to be prudent as far as I can without being slavish. 
 Consider, Monsignore, I must live the life of a student, 
 and I cannot do so in a boarding-house, and I am de- 
 termined to do so in Rome. There is an immense 
 deal of good in Rome with all the evil, and I intend 
 to stay here in spite of everything, and I intend to 
 conquer every difficulty here ; for there is n't one 
 which I respect enough to be worried about. I always 
 conquer in the end. Don't oppose me hastily. Mon- 
 signor Fenelon has seen the place. Come and see it 
 yourself, and you will change your mind. I promise 
 you. that if you still oppose, I will give up the project. 
 Go to-day, if you can, please, and talk with the land- 
 lord. To-morrow, I will come to ask your decision." 
 
 " Women are stubborn creatures ! " Monsignor de- 
 clared with a half-resigned discontent. " They will 
 have their own way, though it should ruin them. 
 
 I have to make a visit to the Princess N , the 
 
 sister of the Emperor of Austria, to-day. She is in 
 Rome, and has sent to let me know. If I have time 
 afterward, I will go and see this place. I do not know 
 anything about it. And here," he added, "is just a 
 case in point. I was at the Austrian Court when 
 Maximilian was made Emperor of Mexico, and I 
 opposed it with all my strength. It was the work of 
 the Empress Augusta. She was determined that he 
 should go ; and but for her he would not have
 
 114 BY THE TIBER. 
 
 When the troubles began there, I begged that they 
 would call him back. At last the Empress got an- 
 gry with me. They were outside Vienna, and I had 
 gone to pay a visit to them. ' Monsignor Nestore,' 
 she said, ' we like you as a friend, and we are happy 
 to see you when you say nothing to displease us. 
 But if you come here to urge the recall of Maximilian 
 from his empire, we do not wish to see you any more.' 
 I rose and bowed. 'Madame,' I said, 'when it comes 
 to that, I have no more to say. I shall never men- 
 tion the subject to you again. Of course a woman 
 must have her way.' And I took my leave. As I 
 drove into Vienna again, I met the French messen- 
 gers going out to inform her of Maximilian's ex- 
 ecution." 
 
 " The moral of your story is terrible," Valeria said. 
 " But if I should come to grief in my obstinacy, I 
 hope, Mousignore, that you, at least, will not lose your 
 head." 
 
 He lifted his forehead austerely, not pleased that 
 his warning should be jested with. 
 
 The next day she went to him again, feeling 
 rather anxious. There were visitors, as usual. 
 
 " I have been to see the very pleasant rooms that 
 you are going to occupy in the Hotel d'Orient," 
 Monsignor announced to her in the hearing of all, 
 "and I am much pleased with them. The landlord 
 and his wife are excellent, respectable people, and 
 will take you under their closest protection." 
 
 " You must go to see her there," he added, turning 
 to the Countess Steinberg. " And you, Mrs. Gordon. 
 It is a most unexceptionable place. I am pleased 
 with it." 
 
 " How finely he did that ! " Valeria thought, while 
 thanking him, and answering the ladies' compliments 
 and questions. " He has set a shield up before me. 
 No one can find any fault now.' 7
 
 FLITTING. 115 
 
 " I should like so much to see this place," said Lady 
 Merton, one of the visitors. " My carriage is at the 
 door. Can I take you there after I have seen Mon- 
 siguor a moment ? " 
 
 The other visitors went, and only Lady Merton and 
 Valeria remained. The English lady, a pretty young 
 widow, had some favors to ask, admittance to the 
 Vatican Museum and gardens, and audiences of the 
 Pope for friends. 
 
 She lingered most unnecessarily, always chatting 
 very much at her ease, and jesting, to the prelate's 
 evident displeasure. 
 
 " I cannot make you out ! " he said abruptly, stand- 
 ing before the sofa on which the two were sitting. 
 " I have known you a good while ; and it is like try- 
 ing to read a book of which I cannot get beyond the 
 preface." 
 
 The lady blushed a little. She was, perhaps, aware 
 that he might have found her coquettish. " I hope 
 you may like the book when you shall have read the 
 whole," she said. 
 
 " I am sure he will ! " Valeria made haste to say. 
 
 "Now, this one," Monsignor resumed, turning to 
 her, " I understand perfectly. Her character is like 
 a clear brook, where I can see every pebble, every 
 single pebble ! " 
 
 " He is calling you shallow," the lady said, coloring 
 with vexation. 
 
 " frot at all ! " he replied, with a cutting emphasis. 
 " Some brooks are shallow, yet muddy, and you can 
 see nothing. Others are deep, but transparent. Va- 
 leria is not shallow." 
 
 Lady Merton rose and took leave with the best 
 grace she could, but deeply mortified. 
 
 Monsignor Nestore called Valeria back a moment. 
 " I am pleased with the place," he said, " and I wish 
 to ask your forgiveness for the rude way in which
 
 116 BY THE TIBER. 
 
 I spoke to you yesterday. You did not deserve it ; 
 and I had no right to speak so." 
 
 He held out his hand, and she bent her head over 
 it. His was such a sure-footed dignity. He was not 
 afraid, to bend lest he should fall. 
 
 Those were pleasant days which followed. Shut 
 in a sunny quiet, it was possible to think and to work, 
 that sweetest of all work which is an exercise of 
 the mind, that trying of the wings which may fly 
 only as far as the hands can reach perhaps, but is 
 flying nevertheless, and so preferable to creeping. 
 Better fall with many bruises, trying to fly, than 
 creep forever unhurt. 
 
 Occasionally, when the sun began to decline, some 
 acquaintance dropped in for half an hour. There 
 were a few kind enough to come thrice for one visit 
 of hers in return. Sometimes several happened to be 
 there at once ; and it might be that they were not 
 common people, and then she liked to listen almost 
 in silence. It seemed to her that it would be very 
 pleasant to have a house where the people she liked 
 could come to meet each other, leaving her to listen 
 or to speak, as she should choose. 
 
 The weeks flew only too fast. 
 
 Sometimes the Syrian landlord would come round 
 by the gallery and terrace to the garden, and would 
 bring her a rose or a cluster of mandarini cut with 
 the leaves around them. Now and then he would 
 stop and talk awhile. He told her the Arabic names 
 of things, spoke Arabic that she might hear the beau- 
 tiful clear language, which in some way is like 
 black coffee, rich and not too sweet, having an aro- 
 matic bitter, rather. It is a language which suits a 
 thin-faced, bright-eyed, turbaned, and haughty people. 
 It goes well with their swift horses and gleaming 
 blades, and their tents under the stars. 
 
 Then what pleasure for a Northerner to walk in
 
 FLITTING. 117 
 
 that little garden of Hesperides, where all the trees 
 hung full of golden fruit at midwinter, and to see 
 the lemon-trees that lined the walls pruned of long 
 branches that could be burned on the fire when the 
 sun had dried them a few days ! 
 
 Then there was the picture-gallery, room after room, 
 crowded with paintings. It was only to cross the 
 terrace, go down a private stair, and shut herself 
 in with endless delights. This Sant' Antonio, with 
 the upward face, and those hands that all the artists 
 copied, hands that Overbeck had stood and praised, 
 saying, " Raphael never painted such ! " was de- 
 signed by Michael Angelo. The Emperor of Russia 
 would have had it long before, but that the Crimean 
 War intervened and gave him other things than pic- 
 tures to think of, and the subject had never been 
 resumed. 
 
 And this other, a Domenfchino, full of harmo- 
 nious, form and color, would probably have gone to 
 Washington ; but here, again, a war had broken into 
 the negotiations; and the seven virtues had been 
 called out in living colors from the national soul, in- 
 stead of being hung in glowing canvas in the national 
 council-chamber. Vigilant Justice, with the jewelled 
 eye suspended at her throat, and her smooth cheek 
 reflected in the mirror of Prudence ; Force, with the 
 lion on her shield, listening to Temperance; Faith, 
 Hope, and Charity softly rounding up the pyramid of 
 symbolic beauty, they were but hints of what had 
 been, beautiful as they were. 
 
 Then there was the Spanish picture of a monk 
 casting devils out of a possessed man, a picture of 
 which many stories were told. Men used to stop in 
 the street when they saw it in a window, and laugh, 
 and try to imitate the grimace of the man who sup- 
 ports the demoniac. Pio Nono had sent a letter writ- 
 ten by a prince of the Church, and a carriage to take
 
 118 BY THE TIBER. 
 
 this picture to the Vatican, and had laughed till he 
 cried, while the dignified prelates around him tried 
 to imitate this man's nauseated grimace, which Cer- 
 vantes might have described. It was irresistible.. 
 One looked at the monk holding up a crucifix, at 
 the lovely, curious, peeping boy, at the tormented face 
 of the demoniac, from whose mouth reptiles were 
 dropping ; but ever the eyes went back to that other 
 figure, and one felt an impulse to make up a face. 
 
 Apparently, one little demon of mischief had lin- 
 gered in the canvas. 
 
 They were pleasant days, such days as one goes 
 to Borne to see the suns go down upon, and the stars 
 crown. 
 
 But they fled, and March was waning, and she 
 would not ask to stay beyond her time, since her stay- 
 ing so long had been a favor. 
 
 I 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 WITH MOTHER NATURE. 
 
 IT was the last day of March, and a day worthy of 
 Eden. There had been nothing of the traditional 
 lion in this month. It had come in like a lamb, and 
 was going out like an angeL 
 
 Valeria took a little travelling-bag, told the people 
 of the house that she should be away all night, and 
 drove down to the Piazza San Marco, whence a dili- 
 gence started every morning for Palestrina. There 
 was still an hour to wait, and she spent it in the 
 garden of the Piazza, which was all fresh from a 
 morning shower, spent it very childishly, being 
 childishly pleased that morning. 
 
 A bright-faced little boy, with a gold band on hig
 
 WITH MOTHER NATURE. 119 
 
 cap, came by, stood a moment watching the lady who 
 walked about searching the clover borders of the 
 flower-beds, and when he caught a smile from her, 
 came in and asked what she was trying to find. 
 
 " A four-leaved clover," she replied. " If you find 
 a four-leaved clover, you can have whatever you wish 
 for." 
 
 Then he began searching diligently with her, his 
 round, rosy face bent close to the green turf; and 
 they had a wonderful discourse. For Valeria's child- 
 hood had not flown away when its season was past, 
 but had hidden itself in the folds and windings of the 
 years, like a little golden-winged butterfly in a gar- 
 ment, and she knew the thoughts of children, those 
 wondering, wide-eyed, serious thoughts, that are so 
 proud and shy, and will not utter a word for any 
 force on earth. 
 
 The hour was nearly past, and the clover-leaf was 
 not found. Perhaps it does not grow in Rome. 
 
 " What would you have wished for if you had found 
 it ? " asked the lady. 
 
 " Oh, I was searching for it for you ! " the boy an- 
 swered. " I don't want anything." 
 
 " Come to think of it, I do not want anything," she 
 replied. " And that is the magical thing we have 
 found, you see, contentment ! They are putting the 
 horses to the carriage over there. I must go. Good- 
 by, little boy ! I hope that you will never want 
 anything." 
 
 He raised his cap with a modest manliness, stood 
 looking after her till she had taken her seat in the 
 diligence, exchanged another smile with her, and went 
 his way. 
 
 The diligence, a remarkably shabby, but perfectly 
 comfortable vehicle, rattled away through the Trajan 
 Forum. It was the first time Valeria had travelled in 
 such a carriage since those days when she had gone
 
 120 BY THE TIBER. 
 
 in a great yellow coach with four horses through hun- 
 dreds of miles of pleasant country roads in the Pine- 
 tree State, far away across the ocean. Did they travel 
 in coaches now up hill and down dale through the 
 lovely woods of Maine ? And were the passengers 
 ever sea-sick with the rolling of their splendid coach ? 
 
 The scent of those Northern pines and cedars seemed 
 to float across the ocean and the years, swathing in 
 mists of the past the great umbrella pines of the 
 South ; and where the snow-laden birches had bent like 
 Eastern courtiers before their Emperor, ivy and grape- 
 vines swept like a tapestry ; and instead of the little 
 red school-house was a storied immemorial ruin, and 
 instead of white cottages looking down from slop- 
 ing hills, dark castles and convents grasped the beet- 
 ling cliffs with their claws of stone and iron. 
 
 The sky softly clouded over, and a light shower 
 came down, making the fresh landscape still lovelier. 
 They stopped a few minutes at the antique Osteria di 
 Finocchio, and went into the black old kitchen, where 
 a woman was cooking at a vast, cavernous fireplace, 
 and men were drinking at the tables. Then on again 
 under the soft sprinkling of the skies. 
 
 The country grew lovelier as they advanced. It 
 seemed to have rained flowers. The rich valleys and 
 slopes, where the mountains press closer and crowd 
 the campagna, were miracles of delicate coloring. 
 Peach, almond, and cherry trees were swathed in white 
 and pink mists of bloom, the wide-spreading vineyards 
 were cobwebbed over with the clouded amber of 
 newly set canes, rivers of golden-green verdure ran 
 between the hills, and carpets o/ the same lay fringed 
 out under the trees. A soft tumult of lights and 
 shades chased each other over plain and mountain. 
 It was an infantine beauty and life, spring newly 
 born, and smiling and playing to itself. 
 
 As they began the long, gentle ascent that leads to
 
 WITH MOTHER NATURE. 121 
 
 Palestrina, a light breeze from the west drew the clouds 
 away as softly as a mother might draw the curtain 
 from a sleeping babe she wishes to display, yet fears 
 to waken, and a sudden rainbow, faint, yet perfect, 
 started out and hung trembling above the earth, with- 
 out disturbing that trance of dewy, silvery air ; and 
 the duplicate bow answered the first as in a whisper. 
 The wide sunbeams that came across the world put off 
 their glory as they caressed the scene, as Hector his 
 plumes for the frightened babe. 
 
 Down the steep banks by the roadside hung a thin 
 veil of ivy, pierced with countless blue flowers ; here 
 and there was thrust out a slender branch with a light 
 sprinkle of blossoms like snow-flakes. 
 
 Then the gray old city came in sight, slipping down 
 the lap of the hill, with the gray barren rocks above, 
 and the hamlet of San Pietro with its ruined fortress 
 at the summit, and a ruined wall zigzagging from top 
 to bottom. 
 
 " Ave, Fortuna Prenestina ! " whispered Valeria, 
 leaning out the window. " Hail to the sacred city from 
 which even Rome could not tear the fugitive ! Hail 
 to the ruined fortress of Stefano Colonna, whose brave 
 heart never surrendered ! Hail to the foundations of 
 the wall over which poor Marius was drawn, and 
 which Pompey the Great and cruel Sylla besieged ! 
 Hail to the thrice-destroyed Preneste, the ploughed 
 and sown with salt, which laughs out in wine and 
 roses after the triple destruction ! " 
 
 " I don't doubt that it 's an awfully filthy place," 
 she thought, leaning resignedly back, after having 
 fired off' her salute. 
 
 The event justified her fears. It was a filthy town. 
 They stopped in the Piazza, before the seminary, set 
 all along its front with fragments of the temple of 
 Fortune ; a boy took her travelling-bag, and conducted 
 her up a long street-stair, then a long house-stair,
 
 122 BY THE TIBER. 
 
 to an apartment where a large, rosy-faced woman 
 came to meet her, smiling, and breathing quickly 
 with eagerness to make her the most utterly com- 
 fortable and contented person on earth. No small 
 reserves nor laundried dignities nor microscopic pro- 
 prieties could live in the presence of this large, 
 glowing creature. She melted them down with her 
 genial kindness, or laughed them away with her good- 
 natured scorn. She took possession of Valeria, fed 
 and rested her effectually, asked and learned all her 
 affairs, and the reasons of them; insisted that she 
 should marry, and recommended an excellent husband 
 to her ; then told her own history in a clear, sketchy 
 style which left nothing to be desired. 
 
 Valeria laughed, submitted, and was contented with 
 everything. 
 
 " I think that you are the goddess of Fortune," she 
 said. "And if you are, you can procure me a carriage. 
 I wish to drive about a little, before dark." 
 
 A carriage ? Yes, as many carriages as she wanted. 
 "Felicetta, go and tell Pietro to have his carriage 
 ready at once for Madama Valeria." 
 
 " You can be perfectly comfortable here," she pur- 
 sued. "It may seem rough at first; but you will 
 soon like it. I don't starve my family. There is the 
 best of meat, fowl, and birds ; there are fresh eggs, good 
 wine of our own making, fruit ; there is every sort of 
 cheese c' tutto ! I have a Danish artist, who has 
 been here eight months, the Signer Eduardo. His 
 studio is up in the old palace, but he eats and sleeps 
 here. His room is down in that other house, where 
 yours will be. I took an apartment below, because I 
 have no rooms to spare here, my family is so large. 
 You can choose the room you like best. Your coffee 
 will be sent down to you ; but dinner and supper will 
 be here, unless you want that sent down too. But 
 it is better to come up. It will do you good to see
 
 WITH MOTHER NATURE. 123 
 
 people and talk a little. My husband was a famous 
 painter, and he always said that after working for 
 hours it did him good to talk awhile. He went to 
 Russia to fresco the Emperor's palaces, and was killed 
 on his way back. They made a great deal of him 
 there, and the Grand Duchess Maria sent me a lovely 
 watch and chain. I will show them to you." And 
 the Signora Maria displayed the exquisite royal 
 gift, a tiny enamelled watch with a chain of fairy 
 delicacy. 
 
 The carriage was ready promptly, and Valeria drove 
 to the old palace, where she had another errand be- 
 sides seeing the famous mosaic. Perhaps she too 
 could have a writing studio there, as the Dane had 
 one for painting. 
 
 Troops of filthy, impudent children ran to the car- 
 riage, clamoring for un baiocco, and followed her up 
 the steps to the grand half-moon concave of the old 
 palace front. An old woman, the custode, came out 
 and drove them away, and showed her the mosaic. 
 There was nothing else to see in this deserted and 
 ruined place, unless Madama would like to see the 
 Tempietto at the very top. 
 
 Of course she would like to see it. So they went 
 up farther, passing through a grassy enclosed garden, 
 where statues lay fallen from their niches and half 
 hidden in verdure. In the Tempietto, which was an 
 open loggia in front of a painted chamber enclosed on 
 three sides, the Signor Eduardo of the Signora Maria 
 was painting with a model. He was a slender young 
 man, scarce over thirty years of age, with exquisitely 
 pure and regular features, blond hair and beard, and 
 blue eyes. He looked calm and modest, even cold. 
 He was a flower of the North. 
 
 All round him was unrolled the magnificent pano- 
 rama of mountain and plain, with Rome crouching at 
 the west under its everlasting mists, and far-stretching
 
 124 BY THE TIBER. 
 
 mountains fading toward the east from black to purple, 
 from purple to violet, from violet to gray, from gray to 
 silver, and from silver to a dream. And where they 
 ceased, the eye knew not. Southward, beyond the 
 Volscian hills, lay the sea in the misty clasp of the 
 far-off promontory of the Siren. 
 
 Down, and into the carriage again went Valeria, 
 fully content ; for she had already engaged her studio. 
 It was a bare, grim chamber ; but it had a window 
 that showed all that beautiful world. They drove 
 outside the walls, only glancing along, without stop- 
 ping, since the sun was low. Presently they came 
 to a road that had an ancient narrow paved road 
 running beside it, the ancient Via Prenestina. The 
 town was hidden from them. They stopped at a large 
 gate in the wall. " It is Villa Frattina," the vetturino 
 said. 
 
 In the gate stood a serious, dark-faced man of over 
 sixty years of age, whom you would have hesitated to 
 classify. He had too much dignity to be called a con- 
 tadino, or a common laborer ; yet he was dressed like 
 a laboring man. He carried himself well, was not 
 too ready with his salutation, and did not smile nor 
 come forward on being addressed. 
 
 " Madama would like to see the villa, with your 
 permission," the vetturino said to this man. " Padro- 
 nissima ! " was the reply. And Marco Bandini opened 
 the gate wider, and lifted his straw hat and looked at 
 her gravely as the lady passed him, but made no fur- 
 ther compliments. When she had entered, he went 
 slowly out and began to talk with the vetturino. 
 
 A Janus of crumbling gray stone stood at either 
 hand inside the gate, a path led along the wall under 
 the trees, and the path that led straight to the house 
 was bordered with a hedge of box that spread out into 
 a semicircle set with ancient statues and busts found 
 on the place. The grounds rose in gardens and ter-
 
 WITH MOTHER NATURE. 125 
 
 races from the road, all the details of them smothered 
 in foliage, over which, from the summit of the gradual 
 elevation, looked a few fine cypresses. 
 
 Valeria walked along the wall in the eastern direc- 
 tion, turned and entered a dark laurel avenue closely 
 overarched with glossy, shining boughs, and pursued 
 that fragrant twilight to the upper terrace, where 
 stood the finest trees, and where rose-bushes were 
 tangled in the hedges and clung to the trunks of 
 cypresses. 
 
 The hedges enclosed in the centre a green chamber 
 with statues, and reaches of dark laurel walks stretch- 
 ing to right and left, and below, a great square wrought 
 in a pattern with fine, low box hedge, that was beginning 
 now to sprout with brighter green along its squares 
 and angles and wheels. From this upper terrace, 
 looking through the parted boughs, could be seen a 
 line of purple mountains, showing in bold, yet harmo- 
 nious undulations against the southern sky. All else 
 was green. There was no other view. 
 
 The paths were a glittering yellow with fallen laurel 
 leaves. The place was a wilderness of laurels. Valeria 
 walked hastily through one that led down to the 
 house. An old woman sat on the step twirling her 
 distaff. She smiled, but did not speak. On the 
 ground behind the house was a confused heap of frag- 
 mentary sculpture. There were Egyptian heads, filleted 
 heads, and heads ringed all over with short curls, one 
 of them face down. A pretty marble face leaned 
 against the cheek of a gigantic mask, another was 
 hidden on a draped breast where the folds were held 
 by a brooch. There were carven coats of arms, and 
 broken hands and feet. One of the steps leading to 
 the house was formed of milk-white folds of Carrara 
 over a colossal shoulder. The house was not large. 
 The owner had finished the grounds, but the malaria 
 had discouraged him from building a casino; and
 
 126 BY THE TIBER. 
 
 for many a year the place had been abandoned to 
 Marco Bandini and his family. Here Vittorio had 
 dreamed, and here Felicita had died. 
 
 When Valeria reached the upper terrace a second 
 time, the sun was at the horizon, and its last beams 
 came through the trees, and fell in large splashes of 
 unradiant orange gold on to the darkening ground. 
 She had to stoop and touch the leaves it fell on to 
 make sure that they were not painted. 
 
 As she stood there silent in that charmed solitude, 
 thinking that the place and the hour were fitting for 
 some shadowy form of the past that should appear, a 
 slight sound made her turn, and spirits of immortal 
 loveliness ! it was no antique shade, no togaed sen- 
 ator, no fiery Marius, no Horace leaning against a 
 cypress with an open, twice-read Homer in his hand, 
 but such a creature as would perhaps have subjected 
 them all. A girl of eighteen, slim and graceful, with 
 a heavy, dishevelled crown of black hair, brilliant 
 dark eyes, red lips smiling over small, milk-white 
 teeth, and a fresh face and round throat of rosy white, 
 with a delicate richness in the cheeks where a dimple 
 nestled. 
 
 This vision stood under the darkness of a cypress- 
 tree, glowing like the evening star, and waited to be 
 spoken to. 
 
 " Come to me if you are human ! " Valeria ex- 
 claimed. " Whether you are human or not, come to 
 me!" 
 
 The girl advanced with a half-bashful, half-confi- 
 dent air, laughing, and alternately raising and drop- 
 ping her brilliant eyes. It was as wonderful as if 
 one of those splashes of sunlight had taken human 
 form. It could not have taken a brighter shape, nor 
 a prettier simple dress, either, than the white camicia, 
 green skirt and corsets, and yellow handkerchief. 
 . " Speak ! What are you ? " Valeria repeated, look-
 
 WITH MOTHER NATURE. 127 
 
 ing with delight into that face as delicate as a flower 
 and as rich as a fruit. 
 
 The girl only hung her head and laughed. She 
 was as simple as a wildwood creature, yet not silly. 
 She laughed from the sweet joy of living, as a brook 
 laughs that runs headlong down from the mountain, 
 no matter where, so that it flows and dances. 
 
 " What is your name ? " was the next question. 
 
 " Kosa," said the girl, finding voice ; and, in speak- 
 ing, a sweet, faintly smiling seriousness settled upon 
 her. In work and thought she could be earnest, you 
 saw, when the time for work and thought should 
 come. 
 
 " Of course ! I might have known you could have 
 no other name," Valeria said. " What is your mother's 
 name ? " 
 
 " It was Felicita. But she is dead." She did not 
 lose her smile in saying it. What did she know of 
 death ? Her mother's last sigh had swelled the tiny 
 sails of her newly launched life. There must have 
 been a smile in that sigh. 
 
 " Is the man at the gate your father ? " 
 
 " Si, signora." 
 
 " Have you brothers and sisters ? " 
 
 " I have one brother, Vittorio." She spoke with an 
 air of pride. " He is the gardener at Villa Mitella, in 
 Rome." 
 
 " Do you live here always ? " 
 
 " I live here all winter with papa and Betta. But 
 in the summer I go up to the old palace and stay 
 with Chiara. I once had a fever here, and now papa 
 will not let me stay." 
 
 She spoke with quiet self-possession, was frank, 
 clear-headed, and prompt. 
 
 " What do you do here ? " Valeria asked, unable to 
 remove her eyes from that face, which took her obser- 
 vation innocently, and was not disconcerted by it
 
 128 BY THE TIBER. 
 
 " I don't ask what your father and Betta do, but what 
 you do." 
 
 " I live here," the girl replied slowly, not seeming 
 quite clear as to this reply. 
 
 Yes, she lived there as a peach lives on the bough, 
 ripening in the sun ; as a rose hangs on its stem, 
 breathing out odors, and feels the breeze and the dew 
 and the sun, and asks no questions. 
 
 Valeria recollected having read that Pliny had 
 mentioned the roses of Preneste as having been fa- 
 mous among the ancients for their fragrance. It was 
 the city of beautiful roses, he said. " Your name is 
 Eosa Prenestina," she exclaimed. 
 
 " My name is Eosa Bandini," the girl replied with 
 a slight surprise. 
 
 Valeria prepared to go away. " When do you go 
 up to the old palace ? " she asked, leading her prize 
 down the steps with her. 
 
 " In May." 
 
 The two walked down to the gate together ; and 
 when Valeria looked back from the carriage in driv- 
 ing away, she saw Eosa hanging on her father's arm, 
 and chattering to him like a magpie. 
 
 It was all charming. The filthy little town was 
 set in an atmosphere of beauty, and its past was a 
 record of beauty. Cicero and Juvenal and Cato and 
 Pliny and Plutarch and Aristotle, and who knows 
 how many others, had praised the town as they might 
 have praised a fair woman. Then the old myth of its 
 origin was so pretty ! Telemachus, searching for his 
 father, was told by the gods to build a town where he 
 should see men dancing crowned with leaves; and, 
 meeting here contadini decorated with brandies, he 
 had accepted it as a sign, and founded the city. So 
 out of the dark past the history of this town had 
 sprung, men dancing crowned with leaves ; and the 
 fountain of their laughter had never run dry. She
 
 ROSA PRENESTINA. 129 
 
 had heard it to-day in the rose-white throat of the 
 Rosa Prenestina. 
 
 " Well ? " asked the Signora Maria when her visitor 
 returned. 
 
 " I am delighted. I shall come back in a fortnight. 
 You must give me that room looking toward the east. 
 And I have a room in the old palace where I shall 
 go every day." 
 
 " Brava I I knew you would like it ! " 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 ROSA PRENESTINA. 
 
 ROSA BANDINI had grown up in solitude, with 
 no playmates but her father, Vittorio, and old 
 Betta, except that, since she had been sent up to the 
 palace in the summer, she had made the acquaint- 
 ance of Chiara. Her father had never allowed her to 
 know children, and did not now allow her to know 
 girls and boys of her own age. 
 
 " Children, especially such as she would see here, 
 corrupt each other," he said. 
 
 He and Vittorio had taught her what she knew of 
 books, to read, write, and make accounts, and Chiara 
 had taught her housekeeping, knitting, weaving, and 
 lace-making. Lace-making was her chief employ- 
 ment. Everything in the house on which lace could 
 be put was decorated by her busy fingers, and many 
 a yard was put away for her bridal outfit when she 
 should marry. The most solemn hours of her life 
 were spent in puzzling out a new pattern with her 
 cushion and bobbins. 
 
 It will be seen that this was a very old-fashioned 
 little Rose.
 
 130' BY THE TIBER, 
 
 She had, however, read something by herself; for 
 the owner of the villa had been there for a part of one 
 distant autumn, and had left a case of books, chiefly 
 history and poetry ; and these she found, and pored 
 over, especially the history of Palestrina. She had 
 told her father and Vittorio all about the siege of 
 Casalinga, that was so bravely defended by soldiers 
 from Preneste, of the nuts that were floated down on 
 the river to the starving inhabitants, of the rape- 
 seed they sowed over the walls, showing that they 
 meant to hold out till it should grow. 
 
 They let her talk, and said many a Brava ! to en- 
 courage her. They knew that she had not many 
 pleasures or interests. But she never knew it. Her 
 joyfulness and sweetness sprang up and fell about her 
 like a fountain, and all the world looked joyful through 
 it. Neither did she know that her father and Vittorio 
 were bitter with the world. They smiled now and 
 then for her ; and if they were never merry, why, that 
 was their way. She never heard them complain of 
 anything. Then old Betta was as gay as a cricket, and 
 cheerful and contented about everything. 
 
 Kosa had been to the old palace the year before, 
 and though she had very little company there, and 
 never went anywhere, nor saw any one, except in the 
 presence of Chiara, the custode, who was a friend of 
 her father, she liked the wide view, and to wander 
 through the deserted rooms and garden, and down 
 into the beautiful church of Santa Rosalia, that alone, 
 of all the place, had been preserved in its first beauty. 
 And she liked to go about with the tourists who came 
 to see the mosaic. Several times Chiara had let her 
 open the door of the room for them, and stand while 
 they looked, and listen to their strange, harsh lan- 
 guages as they talked to each other. She had learned 
 all the history of the mosaic, and told it off very 
 proudly to these curious forastieri This was her
 
 ROSA PRENESTINA. 131 
 
 festa. And they all praised her, and gazed at her, and 
 spoke of her to each other ; and sometimes they told 
 her that she was beautiful. She knew that she was 
 beautiful, she had heard it all her life, and it was one 
 of the sources of her happiness. It was pleasant to 
 see that the most serious face smiled when it looked 
 at her. 
 
 The previous year the Danish painter had come 
 there, arid he, too, had glanced at her as he went in 
 and out ; and he was so unmistakably good, so nearly 
 an angel, as both Chiara and the Signora Maria said, 
 that she was allowed to speak to him now and then. 
 He usually painted in the Tempietto when the weather 
 was fine ; but when it was bad, he came down to a 
 room next that of Chiara, and she could see him at 
 work ; for the door was almost always open. 
 
 Eosa would always be seated at such times at 
 Chiara's window, with her lace-cushion on her lap ; 
 and the painter would glance from time to time across 
 his easel at that bright face in the gray old room, 
 and Rosa would glance over her bobbins at the fair- 
 haired Northerner who made such wonderful pictures. 
 And if by chance their glances encountered, Rosa 
 would hang her head and laugh, and by and by begin 
 to peep up again, like the simple, delicious little fool 
 that she was. 
 
 She wondered much over this artist with his magic 
 pencil, who painted all the rainbow colors of the cam- 
 pagna, the mountains and the skies. He could make 
 a fine picture of a donkey with a man and a basket 
 of greens on his back, of old Peppina with her bundle 
 of sticks, of Catarina with two liens hanging heads 
 downward from her hand, of ragged little Tito with 
 his round face and saucy smile, of the women washing 
 at the fountain with their skirts turned up, and a wall 
 of ivy for a background. She had never thought these 
 things worth a second glance, yet he studied, and
 
 132 BY THE TIBER. 
 
 spent days over them. When they were painted she 
 could see that they were beautiful, but without know- 
 ing why, unless it was because he had touched them. 
 
 Many of the things that she had admired and 
 wondered over, the Signor Eduardo cared nothing 
 for. The fine dresses of some of the ladies, all rib- 
 bons and little crimped-up flounces, he had laughed 
 at, and called ugly ; and he hardly glanced at Seconda 
 Dorelli's coral and gold chain, and large gold rings, 
 though they were so splendid. 
 
 "To be sure," thought Rosa, "he seems to admire 
 my ear-rings." But when she had motioned to re- 
 move one that he might examine it, he had said that 
 it was not necessary, and had told her to sit still while 
 he sketched it hanging in her ear. And he did sketch 
 it very perfectly, and the profile and whole head with 
 it. It was rather provoking that he had not let her 
 know what he was going to do, so that she could have 
 smoothed back those heavy locks of hers that were 
 always dropping over her eyes. For he had actually 
 taken them all as they were in disorder. 
 
 " No matter," he had said, " the ear-ring is all right." 
 And he had laughed. 
 
 She used to think it all over as she sat in Chiara's 
 great chamber making lace, think over all that he 
 said and did ; and she found herself very pleasantly 
 employed. 
 
 All this had happened the summer before. The 
 Dane had stayed till October, and had then gone to 
 Rome. Rosa cried a little quietly when he went 
 away, but had not let him see her tears. She was 
 rather ashamed of crying for anything. It seemed 
 childish. So she tried to be brave, and had smiled 
 when he said " Addio " to her. " I shall come back 
 next summer. Will you be glad to see me, Rosa ? " 
 he had said, looking at her in a way that had made 
 her drop her eyes, she knew not why.
 
 ROSA PRENESTINA. 133 
 
 And now he was back again, and she at the palace, 
 and he carne and went just as he had the year before! 
 It was just the same, with a very little difference ; 
 and the difference was the siynora americana, Ma- 
 dama Valeria. 
 
 Eosa was very fond of the new signora, who was 
 most kind to her; but she was curiosa for all that. 
 Most forastieri were curiosi. She would sometimes 
 sit and look off toward Eome, or to the eastern moun- 
 tains, or to the sea, for hours, and never seem to tire. 
 And she looked into flowers, and examined leaves, and 
 stopped to look at sun-rays and moon-rays and com- 
 mon pebbles ; and she wanted to know the names of 
 them all. She looked at the stars, too, and sometimes 
 told Rosa the names of them, and watched at the 
 window to see the new moon, and cried out when the 
 sunlight had gone down like a high tide and left that 
 little crescent stranded, just as if there never were a 
 new moon before. 
 
 To Rosa these were all very common things, pleas- 
 ant enough, certainly, to look at once in a while ; but 
 to look at them every day was very queer. 
 
 Sometimes Madarna and the Signor Eduardo had 
 long conversations together which they seemed to 
 like ; and though they spoke Italian, Rosa did not 
 understand one half they said, they were so very 
 learned. Now and then, while they talked, the Signor 
 Eduardo would turn and see Rosa's serious, puzzled 
 face, and would smile and say something to her ; and 
 all the reply she made was a laugh. She was so 
 simple and unthinking that she laughed at nothiug, 
 as the birds sing, as the fountain runs over. 
 
 "Sangue dolce!" the Dane said once, looking at 
 her with a tender smile. And, indeed, she had sweet 
 blood as well as a sweet face. 
 
 Perhaps, as the days of that summer went by, 
 her laugh grew less light and empty and frequent
 
 134 BY THE TIBER. 
 
 Sometimes she only smiled. But she was herself no 
 more aware of the change than the swinging rose is, 
 when a heavy dew-drop falls into its heart and stead- 
 ies it somewhat. She still went about her little 
 duties, and the small routine of her life. If she was 
 sometimes rather absent, that was nothing. She had 
 things to think about. Madama Valeria and the 
 Siguor Eduardo seemed to be very good friends, and 
 Chiara had said that perhaps they would one day 
 be married. She was thinking of that. It was very 
 interesting ; and, thinking of it, she sometimes forgot 
 to laugh. 
 
 It was not strange that they should be much to- 
 gether, talking, and taking long walks in the cam- 
 pagna or up the mountain. They liked the same 
 things, and it was quite natural, quite proper. 
 
 " They are going out now to walk," she thought, one 
 day, looking after them with a sweet, light shadow on 
 her face. They were of the same height, for Madama 
 was tall, and she had a red rose in her bonnet, and a 
 little red ruffle at the bottom of her dress, and a great 
 fan covered with painted Chinese women, and black 
 gloves painted with little red and gold flowers. The 
 Signor Eduardo had painted them. Rosa did not 
 know that she sighed, looking after them. She was 
 thinking that it must be a grand thing to be a fine 
 lady, though she had never dreamed of being one, or 
 wished for anything so silly. She was content to 
 be as she was, with her blue-and-white cotton skirt, 
 and deep blue corset, laced over a white camicia, and 
 a green handkerchief folded down in pleats from the 
 back of her neck, and tucked into the high bust in 
 front. The Signor Eduardo had once said that her 
 face above that green and blue looked like a pink 
 Arethusa growing out of a reedy brook. 
 
 The two whom she watched went upward a little 
 to the long green road that leads from the westward 
 mountain-side down to the campagna.
 
 ROSA PRENESTINA. 135 
 
 "I half wish that I had asked Rosa to come with us," 
 Valeria said. " It seems unkind to never offer her 
 any change. But, to tell the truth, when her pretty 
 face is by, your talk is not very interesting. I don't 
 blame you. I merely state the fact, and explain why 
 I do not furnish you with more opportunities to gaze 
 at her. I doubt if so much silent homage be good 
 for a girl who will presently be left quite alone. One 
 must think a little of her as well as of pleasing 
 one's self." 
 
 She had been thinking rather impatiently of late : 
 " This man, who is as good as he can be, and has not 
 a particle of vanity, is behaving as badly as if he were 
 a rascal. When he goes away that child will break 
 her heart." 
 
 The painter hung his head a little, and was silent. 
 He was a quiet, reserved man, slightly bashful, and 
 as delicate as a woman ought to be. He did not 
 believe that Rosa dreamed of loving him or any one. 
 He had been studying her face unconsciously while 
 studying the problem if indeed a soul would ever 
 float on that sangue dolce, if ever she would be any- 
 thing but a flower. 
 
 It was a lovely road, the hedges and walls about 
 it overman tied with vines of large white convolvuli, 
 half hidden at times by clumps of elder-trees, sweet 
 with immense clusters of flaky white blossoms. The 
 flowers were so profuse that at turnings of the road 
 they seemed to have smothered it quite. 
 
 At a turn they came upon two gentlemen, a small, 
 slight Greek priest in his black robe and four-cor- 
 nered berretta, and a tall professor from the seminary. 
 The Professor held a book in his hand, and read aloud 
 as they walked, reading slowly, like a boy at school. 
 He was learning Greek of the other ; and every Greek 
 root, as he drew it out, was perfumed with Italian 
 flowers.
 
 136 BY THE TIBER. 
 
 Hearing the steps that followed, the two turned 
 their heads. 
 
 " It is a peripatetic school," the Greek said, with a 
 singularly sweet smile in his face, that was as pale as 
 a pearl. 
 
 "With Aristotle strained through Saint Thomas 
 Aquinas," added the Professor. 
 
 "Accept my compliments on the architecture of 
 your Lyceum," Valeria said ; and added, " Will the 
 Professor Sardegna be at liberty to-morrow ? " 
 
 The Professor declared himself to be entirely at her 
 disposition. 
 
 Would he give her a reading of Tasso in the Bar- 
 berini garden the next afternoon ? 
 
 The Professor would call to escort her to the garden 
 at any hour she might name. 
 
 " At four, then." And they separated. 
 
 The painter and Valeria gathered liowers, little 
 white violets, purple bachelor's-buttons, a hundred 
 wild things of all colors. Now and then one of them 
 made a hasty sketch of something that caught their 
 eyes and fancy. They visited the fountain that the 
 Dane had painted, Acqua di Pepe, and drank of its 
 limpid water, noted in all the country round. Then 
 they turned homeward, and went up to the old palace 
 again, where the Dane had left some letters that must 
 be mailed that evening. 
 
 Chiara, seeing them return, knew what was wanted, 
 and sent Eosa down with the letters, to spare them 
 the stairs. 
 
 Rosa gave the letters with a smile ; but there was 
 a certain modest dignity in her manner which did not 
 escape either of them. Her face was perhaps not 
 quite so rosy as usual; but she looked at them calmly, 
 and answered as gently as ever. With all her sim- 
 plicity, there was something unapproachable about 
 her.
 
 COUNTRY LIFE. 137 
 
 "How sober you are, Eosa mm/" Valeria said, 
 "What has happened?" 
 
 "Nothing has happened," the girl replied with quiet 
 reserve ; and her faint, proud smile would have be- 
 come a queen. 
 
 " Fdicissima sera, Kosa ! " said the Dane, looking at 
 her earnestly. 
 
 She replied with sweet composure, and let them go. 
 
 But when they were gone, she fled up-stairs, and 
 out into the green, high-walled garden behind the 
 palace. The grass grew tall, there was no one in 
 sight. She ran across the garden, and flung herself 
 down beside a headless statue that lay there, and, hid- 
 ing her face against the cold marble breast, sobbed 
 out all her passion. 
 
 " I don't know what is the matter with me ! " she 
 sobbed, beating down a thought that tried to rise. 
 " It must be an urta dei nervi. I don't know what 
 else." And she buried her face in the dewy grass, 
 and strove to cool her throbbing temples against the 
 cold marble. And again, when she rose, and stole 
 into the house at twilight, she protested to her own 
 heart, " I don't know what I was crying so for ! " 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 COUNTRY LIFE. 
 
 IT was a various company that met at the Signora 
 Maria's supper-table that evening, for several 
 new visitors had arrived in the afternoon. At the 
 end of the table sat the Dane, with Valeria below the 
 corner at his right, and a young Swede opposite her. 
 Next the Swede sat two English ladies, who were
 
 138 BY THE TIBER. 
 
 making the journey from Eome to Genazzano on 
 foot ; "shod like horses," said the Signora Maria, who 
 marvelled greatly over these long walks. Next to 
 Valeria sat three German ladies. 
 
 The German ladies were silent and modest, and 
 seemed timid; the English ladies were silent and 
 reserved, and seemed severe ; the Swede kept up an 
 almost whispered conversation in Danish with the 
 Signer Eduardo. There was an air of constraint over 
 all. One of the- German ladies, having swallowed 
 Bomethiiig the wrong way, partly because of embar- 
 rassment, and choking a little, nearly cried with 
 mortification. 
 
 Clelia, the pretty girl who waited on them, kept 
 glancing about with bright eyes full of laughter 
 at these queer forastieri, who ate together without 
 speaking a word. The Signora Maria, who usually 
 waited, was employed on some momentous dish in 
 the kitchen. 
 
 "What a pity we have not a Frenchman or a 
 Russian here to make up the seven nations ! " Valeria 
 said to the Dane. " We are now but six." 
 
 " Yes," he assented smilingly, but could get no fur- 
 ther, as she had spoken in English, which he did not 
 understand well. 
 
 The silence deadened. The Dane exchanged an 
 amused glance with the waitress, and nodded toward 
 the kitchen door, with a murmured, " Per earita ! " 
 
 Clelia disappeared, and a moment later entered 
 the Signora Maria, smiling and rubicund, bearing a 
 great open dish, which had evidently been taken off 
 her mind as well as off the fire. 
 
 " Now here is something chic ! " she called out in a 
 loud, cheery voice, and set the dish down beside the 
 Dane. " Help yourself, Eduardo mio, senza compli- 
 menti. It is too heavy to stand holding. Or help first 
 Madama Valeria, if you wish." And she patted him
 
 COUNTRY LIFE. 139 
 
 on the shoulder, repeating with great good-will her 
 " Eduardo mio ! " 
 
 " He is so good ! " she added, addressing the com- 
 pany. 
 
 The painter, who was accustomed to these compli- 
 ments, took no notice of them except by a slight 
 blush and smile. 
 
 " It is really chic, Signora Maria," one of the ladies 
 said, having tasted of the dish. 
 
 It was home-made macaroni steeped in a rich 
 giblet sauce, and garnished with little gold-colored 
 balls, which proved to be the yolks of the number of 
 eggs which the late hen would have laid that week if 
 hei;life had been spared. 
 
 " Of course it is ! " responded the landlady, who 
 was not inclined to hide her light under a bushel ; 
 and she immediately described the manner in which 
 it was prepared. 
 
 She laughed and talked; sang a few lines of a 
 soldier's song ; filled everybody's tumbler with great 
 splashes of red wine ; piled their plates with the most 
 embarrassing mountains of food ; asked how they 
 liked their food, and told them what other de- 
 cker ia was then being prepared for them in the 
 kitchen. 
 
 " Madama Valeria says that my agro dolce is better 
 than they make in Rome, and Madama Valeria is a 
 judge of everything, from an agro dolce to Dante's 
 Inferno. She is a very distinguished lady, and has 
 written a library full of books. She is immensely 
 rich. Her father was a Senator of the American 
 States. And when she came here she brought letters 
 of introduction to the Mayor and the Bishop and the 
 Princess " 
 
 " Good gracious ! " cried Valeria, astounded at the 
 gigantic proportions which the very modest story 
 that had been drawn from her on her arrival had
 
 140 BY THE TIBER. 
 
 assumed in the fervid imagination of the Signora 
 Maria. " Where did you get all this wonderful ro- 
 mance ? " 
 
 "Everybody says it," the landlady replied with 
 great dexterity. 
 
 The company were all laughing. The ice was 
 broken. They regarded with a smiling wonder this 
 great creature, who was as simple as a child, yet had, 
 at need, no small amount of subtlety ; this woman so 
 generous and enthusiastic, who lost her head with a 
 facility only equalled by the facility with which she 
 regained it. 
 
 " She is a type ! " murmured one of the ladies. " I 
 could listen to her all day." , 
 
 The supper ended, they all gathered about a table 
 in an inner chamber. The Signora Maria was go- 
 ing to show them some antiquities. The other 
 tables in the room were already piled with antique 
 vases, lamps, and fragments ; but the more precious 
 articles were locked away in a cabinet. They 
 consisted chiefly in scarabei, intagli, and ancient 
 rings, all found in the plain about Palestrina, where 
 the territory is probably as rich as any in Italy. 
 For not only did the beautiful natural position of 
 ancient Preneste invite the rich to build their vil- 
 las there, but the supreme reputation and magnifi- 
 cence of the Temple of Fortune, which covered all the 
 site of the present town, drew worshippers and tribute. 
 Cicero bears testimony to the splendors of this tem- 
 ple, and the few remains left of it confirm his word. 
 Pliny praises the roses of Preneste ; Cato, its walnuts ; 
 Martial, its wines and the fertility of its soil ; Livy 
 says that it had a territory of twenty miles by twenty- 
 five, and owned eight cities ; and it was so sacred that 
 those who fled to the shelter of its temple were safe 
 from Roman justice and vengeance. 
 
 All this gave an enchanting value to these precious
 
 COUNTRY LIFE. 141 
 
 little fragments that had so long been hidden in the 
 earth, and had now come to light with all their mem- 
 ories about them. Some had been found by con- 
 tadini, and sold to the Signora Maria's brother, who 
 understood these things, and others had been taken 
 from the soil in their own vineyards. 
 
 When the company went away, Clelia and the old 
 servant, Felicetta, came in and played Morra with 
 the Signora Maria for a tumbler of wine, and some 
 cherries that were left. The three hands were thrust 
 vigorously out, and each seized her gains eagerly, that 
 the others might riot rob her, the padrona cheating 
 frankly now and then. 
 
 Tired and contented, Valeria went down-stairs, 
 accompanied by Clelia, bearing a long brass lamp, 
 crossed the piazzetta, shut herself into her room, arid, 
 extinguishing the candle, seated herself by the open 
 window. 
 
 The mountain rose steeply at her left, lifting the 
 horizon half-way to the zenith. On its side the 
 Cappuccini church and convent nestled into a grove. 
 Close to her window was the convent of the Sepolte 
 Vite, as silent as the grave, not only now by night, 
 but when the sun shone on its mysterious walls, 
 wherein every face is veiled forever from human 
 sight. 
 
 The velvety dusk was sweet with the perfume of 
 elder-blossoms ; a fountain dropped with a watery 
 whisper down by the street-side; and through the 
 immensity of silence stretching off eastward toward 
 the mountains, came the liquid notes of a lone bird 
 that sang as though it spoke. Every night that 
 plaintive nightingale sang in the silence between the 
 Cappuccini and the Sepolte Vite. 
 
 " I am glad to be in Italy ! " Valeria thought, clos- 
 ing her window against the night air. 
 
 And again the next day she said, " I am glad to be
 
 142 BY THE TIBER. 
 
 in Italy ! " when she sat in the pleasant garden of the 
 Barberini palace, in the lower part of the town, with 
 the landscape spread out in sunshine from under the 
 dark roof of ilex-trees over her head, and listened to 
 Professor Sardegna reading Tasso. As she listened, 
 the view changed to the garden of Armida, the mar- 
 ble shapes about breathed, and the misty sea-line in 
 that great mountain hollow at the south drew nearer, 
 and rippled into sight. 
 
 " D' incontro fe il mare ; e di canuto flutto 
 Vedi spumati i suoi cerulei cam pi." 
 
 "Will you take a walk?" the Professor asked, 
 closing the book. 
 
 They wandered down into the campagna, meeting 
 the contadini coming up from their work to sleep in 
 the city. There were whole families, from grand- 
 fathers to babies, with laden donkeys, and black pigs 
 that skipped like goats. 
 
 " Nothing would induce them to sleep in the cam- 
 pagna," the Professor said. " They fear the malaria, 
 and perhaps they fear each other ; for those cabins in 
 the plain do not close like a city house." 
 
 These contadini have a character which their class 
 in no other country possess. It cannot be despised, 
 and disgust is not the feeling that it inspires. If you 
 do not look at them with compassion, and sometimes 
 with admiration, you pay them the compliment of 
 your hatred, which they do not deserve. Perhaps, 
 though, they are more likely to inspire each and all 
 of these feelings in turn. The only sentiment which 
 they can never awaken is respect. 
 
 Those souls are like the soil underneath their vine- 
 yards and olive-orchards, which is sown through with 
 ruined glories. The roots of a plant or tree may clasp 
 a delicate marble hand down in the dark, or slip over 
 the long, chiselled folds of a Carrara toga, or grow
 
 COUNTRY LIFE, 143 
 
 across a smooth cheek that the sun has not seen for 
 centuries, or entangle and bear downward a scarabeo 
 or intaglio that a princess might wear and prize. 
 Fragments of Christianity and Paganism lie jumbled 
 together, the balls of Jove Serapis rolled against the 
 tliornless roses of Saint Francis. So in these minds, 
 where you surprise exquisite bits^of knowledge in the 
 midst of ignorance, delicate traits of culture in rough- 
 ness, and of beauty in ugliness. You see a rich pink 
 rose, all dewy with freshness, in a battered hat ; you 
 receive an elegant salutation from a tattered clown ; 
 your servant pays you compliments which you would 
 like to translate into your own language for the draw- 
 ing-room ; a rough-shod, leather-legginged fellow walks 
 backward half the length of a church in which is ex- 
 posed the Sacrament. Who told him that he must 
 not turn his back upon the king ? 
 
 You cannot teach them. Their ignorance is so 
 systematized as to have become a science, and your 
 new facts have no place there. They would be like 
 new wine in old bottles ; and they know that their 
 bottles would burst. They are civil to your face, 
 maybe, but they laugh when you have turned away. 
 Their easy, amused scorn is as lofty as the scorn of a 
 philosopher for a fool. The wisest and most philan- 
 thropic stranger who would instruct them would seem 
 to them ridiculous. They know things which you do 
 not know, therefore they consider themselves better 
 informed. Their habits, as well as their faith, are 
 founded upon a rock. They live in the midst of pet- 
 rified customs, and your customs which differ from 
 them are as laughable in their eyes as you would be 
 if you walked on your hands instead of your feet. 
 
 They do not want your tools, your machines, nor 
 your books. Their princes do not offer them these 
 things, therefore they are worthless. What do you 
 foreigners know of Italy or of them? The only
 
 144 BY THE TIBER. 
 
 respectable thing about your interference is your 
 money. They are content to turn over the earth as 
 their fathers did before them; and all the mathe- 
 matics they want is in their ten fingers. 
 
 They gather bunches of little green apples no larger 
 than cherries, and almonds that have only a soft 
 milky kernel, and peaches like green rocks ; and their 
 market is filled witn this trash, because they will not 
 sacrifice the certain soldo of to-day for the hope of 
 three soldi to-morrow. It is useless for you to urge 
 them to cultivate their fruit, and make it at least as 
 fine as that of Northern countries. The princes culti- 
 vate fruit in their gardens because they are princes ; 
 for them, they take what the trees give ; and what 
 they cannot sell, the pigs will eat. 
 
 You can do nothing with them. Only when the 
 rich and the powerful shall interest themselves in 
 agriculture, will Italian produce equal that of Northern 
 lands ; and only when the prince tries to instruct the 
 contadino will he consent to learn. 
 
 The superstition with which these poor people are 
 so often reproached is scarcely a misfortune. That 
 love of the marvellous has done in them something of 
 the work which knowledge does for the learned. It 
 has kept their souls above the earth on which their 
 feet tread, and it has kept a certain freshness in their 
 hearts. If great thoughts do not expand the mind, it 
 is better that it should be inflated by illusions than 
 to collapse. Moreover, superstition, the Scylla of ig- 
 norance, is better than scepticism, the Charybdis of 
 learning. To superstition sublime action is possible ; 
 but who would expect heroism from incredulity ? 
 
 "Madama is silent," the Professor remarked, as 
 Valeria walked along, buried in thought. 
 
 "Pardon me! I was thinking how much Father 
 Gioacchino Ventura might have done for the glory of 
 God and of Italy, if he had been permitted ; and how
 
 COUNTRY LIFE. 145 
 
 much those two noble books of his, the Donna Catto- 
 lica and the Donna Cristiana, might yet do, if they 
 were only read." 
 
 " He died in France," the Professor said. 
 
 " Yes ; in exile ! " was the reply. " When I had 
 read his books, I went in search of him, as on a pil- 
 grimage ; and when they told me that he was dead, I 
 had such a sense of loss as few deaths could cause me." 
 
 " Have you seen his monument in Sant' Andrea 
 della Valle ? " the Professor asked. 
 
 " Yes. His dust was brought back and laid with 
 all honor under the pavement, when the troublesome 
 immortal spark was out of it ; and his marble likeness 
 was set up, as if preaching, when his voice was silenced 
 forever. It is not Jerusalem alone which has stoned 
 the prophets, and killed them that were sent unto her." 
 
 There was silence again, neither wishing to pursue 
 an unpleasant subject. 
 
 Then the Professor pointed out a spot where, a few 
 years before, a contadino had come upon an ancient 
 sarcophagus in digging a trench on his land. Hoping 
 to find a treasure in it, he carefully removed all the 
 earth, and, without calling help, managed to lift the 
 cover. Within lay the form of a woman, distinct in 
 shape, though quite dark in color. On seeing this 
 awful shadow out of the past, the man fainted. When 
 he regained consciousness, and had called assistance, 
 the figure had quite fallen to dust. 
 
 They came to a little wayside chapel where some 
 boys were sweeping the floor, and putting up flowers 
 before a picture of the Madonna, in preparation for 
 somefesta. 
 
 Farther on, where the falling bank at the roadside 
 had disclosed a piece of ancient wall, the Professor 
 picked up a pointed bone arrow-head, and Valeria an 
 ancient silver coin of Greece. 
 
 They stopped on a little bridge over a ravine to 
 10
 
 146 BY THE TIBER. 
 
 look down at the tree-tops, and to see the low sun- 
 shine move on the parapet. It moved backward with 
 a slow strength as the sun went down, but trembled 
 in moving. The sunshine always trembles as it moves. 
 Is it because the heart of the earth beats hard, or is 
 it the heart of the sun ? 
 
 The golden air of sunset had grown silver, then 
 taken a delicats shade of violet ; and a star was visible 
 when they reached the city gate again. It was very 
 lovely. 
 
 " ' How good is our life, the mere living,' " thought 
 Valeria, " especially when one is in Italy and in the 
 country !" 
 
 But, pleasant as such hours were, they did not equal 
 the long days when she was shut into that great gray 
 room of the old palace, where the only furniture was a 
 chair and a table drawn up before the window. There 
 her fancies had elbow-room ; and though, when she 
 seated herself, pen in hand, and waited for the pro- 
 cession of her story to march out through that gate 
 of expression that is so small, so small ! there was 
 ever a confusion like that of any public procession, 
 now a poor little fancy gets its wings crushed by 
 some hobnailed common-place that will come out, 
 now " a thought stops the way ! " and has to be set 
 down on its own slip of paper outside, and a general 
 bustle of many-colored ideas, it was high fcsta for 
 all that, and a most pleasant trouble. A i'ew persons 
 who had put their heads into this studio found it very 
 bare ; but Valeria was to herself like the old woman 
 who lived in a shoe. 
 
 " I like large, bare rooms," the Dane said, " if only 
 they are lofty and well-proportioned, and have a good 
 view from the windows. It has always seemed to me 
 that small spaces make small talk. When I go into 
 a room so crowded with furniture that you come out 
 with your knees and elbows black and blue with 
 bruises, I never expect to hear any thing but scandal"
 
 COUNTRY LIFE. 147 
 
 In company with two or three other visitors in 
 Palestrina, they went on little excursions to the neigh- 
 boring towns, to Cave and Genazzano, to Rocca di 
 Cave and Zagarolo. It was all a dream of delight. 
 Multitudinous flowers, gray rocks and precipices, pic- 
 turesque old palaces, mountains as hlue as lapis-lazuli, 
 golden wheat-fields and dark-green vineyards, all na- 
 ture's cornucopia poured out on the landscape, made 
 of life something ideal. And delight was business 
 and beauty was food. 
 
 In all these excursions Rosa Bandini accompanied 
 her new friend ; but the Dane was too busy to go. 
 He had to finish a large picture, and many sketches, 
 and he was going to Venice, where he would remain 
 several months, then return to Rome in the spring. 
 After another year and a half he would go back to 
 Denmark, and he was laying up Southern sunshine to 
 last him through many a Northern winter, perhaps 
 through all the winters of his life. 
 
 He was so busy as almost to have given up his 
 walks with Valeria ; but they talked together at the 
 table and after supper. Sometimes she wondered if 
 he had any loverlike inclination toward Rosa, and if, 
 supposing he had, he would be willing to yield to it, 
 and marry a little blossom of a rustic, who went in 
 petticoat and corsets, and with a handkerchief, if she 
 wore anything, on her head. 
 
 She tried him one day with a different costume, 
 when she was just setting out on some excursion with 
 Rosa. She had snatched off the girl's clean white 
 apron and thrown it aside, draped a white zephyr 
 shawl around her shoulders and fastened it with a 
 pink rose, and caught a black lace veil to her thick hair 
 with a gilt spear. The dark-blue skirt and little high- 
 heeled boots were all that could be desired ; and^ no 
 lady could have been more prettily dressed. Few 
 ladies could have so well become their dress as Kosa
 
 148 BY THE TIBER. 
 
 did, standing there under the gray doorway leading 
 out into the Tempietto, only the halo of a smile about 
 her lips, and her dark eyes looking earnestly out from 
 under her drooping brows at the painter. She did not 
 laugh. She looked out at him from the shadowed 
 depths of her heart to see if he, a gentleman, thought 
 that she could be a lady. 
 
 His eyes were caught by that vision, as in a net. 
 He drew one quick little breath, and smiled, but said 
 nothing. 
 
 " Did you ever see a person who bore being stared 
 at so nobly ? " Valeria said to him in English. " A 
 marble statue could not take admiration more tran- 
 quilly. See how well the pink rose becomes her ! 
 And pink is a trying color. Is it not a pity that such 
 a creature should marry a common fellow, who will 
 perhaps beat her ? " 
 
 He murmured some unintelligible word, and dropped 
 his eyes. He had a wonderful faculty for holding his 
 tongue. 
 
 Rosa looked at him steadily with her fathomless, 
 melancholy eyes, her bearing full of a proud simpli- 
 city, then turned away without a word, and went 
 down-stairs. 
 
 It was like trying to bring the equator and the tropic 
 of Cancer together ! 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 "SWEET HOME." 
 
 ONE day, late in the summer, Valeria received a 
 letter from Miss Chaplin, who was yet in Rome, 
 but about to set out for Paris, on her way to America 
 with Mrs. Gray.
 
 "SWEET HOME." 149 
 
 She wrote that Miss Cromo had taken an apart- 
 ment, and having moved her effects into it, without 
 arranging them, had gone away for a short villegrjiatura. 
 In October she would return and put the house in 
 order. 
 
 "There is a vacant apartment over hers," Miss 
 Chaplin wrote, " and I thought of you at once when I 
 saw it, though I thought best not to say anything 
 then. I only glanced at it when I went with Miss 
 Cromo, who looked at the whole house. But I pro- 
 cured the keys, and went alone the next day, in order 
 to tell you all about it. I spoke to the man having 
 charge of it, and he will let the apartment for a rea- 
 sonable price, and keep it till he hears from you." 
 
 Then followed a description. 
 
 We have already described Villa Mitella, and have 
 mentioned the casuccia which was included in its 
 southern wall. It was this house to which Miss 
 Chaplin referred ; and it seemed, indeed, to be en- 
 closed in a world of walls. For not only the villa 
 wall, in which more than half its depth was set, 
 stretched at either end of it along the Via Nero, but 
 the opposite side of the street was also walled-in gar- 
 dens for some distance up and down. Downward 
 there was nothing but walls, Via Nero making a sud- 
 den turn around the corner of the villa, and passing 
 by the entrance to the gardener's house at the back 
 of the grounds. Up the street houses were visible at 
 a short distance. 
 
 The house was long and narrow, the side on the 
 street ; and opposite the middle of it, a second street, 
 Via Claudia, came down a slight rise into Via Nero. 
 Quite near one end of the casuccia, almost as though it 
 were a continuation of Via Claudia, an arched opening 
 had been cut, and finished with a gate into the garden. 
 This gate was always kept jealously closed, and had 
 a deep recess both inside and on the street.
 
 150 BY THE TIBER. 
 
 As is common with these city gardens in Italy, the 
 land inside the wall was much higher than the street ; 
 so that the gateway had a long stair inside, and the 
 earth was almost half-way up the rooms of Miss Cro- 
 mo's apartment. The wall, that looked like a fortress 
 on the outside, was on the inside scarcely over the 
 tops of the rose-bushes. 
 
 The casuccia had a double roof, and only two stories 
 above the ground-floor. The lower was reached by a 
 door at the end looking up the street, and an inside 
 stair ; the upper had an outside stair at the opposite 
 end. Both apartments had windows on the street 
 and one window at the end opposite the door. The 
 upper one alone looked into the garden. This was 
 by an arched window that had once lighted a stairway 
 now closed, and it looked out over the inner steps of 
 the gate, through the shrubs to Vittorio's house, and 
 over a paradise of flowers and fountains to the op- 
 posite wall of the garden, which hid all the world 
 beyond, except a blue mountain-top. 
 
 " Shall I have that window looking into the gar- 
 den closed up ? " the Prince's major-domo asked him. 
 " I don't think that the Countess will like it." 
 
 "What harm will it do ? " the Prince replied, rather 
 impatiently. He was none too well pleased with his 
 daughter, and very willing to oppose her wishes, when 
 he did not understand perfectly the reasons for them. 
 " To close it would be to darken a room. If the lady 
 likes to look into the garden, she is welcome to. And 
 if she would like to have some flowers, tell Vittorio 
 to give her as many as she wants." 
 
 Valeria had already been to Rome, and had taken 
 the apartment on a long lease. While talking with 
 the inajor-domo about it in the porter's room of the 
 villa, a quiet-looking gentleman whom she had found 
 there, after listening awhile, had asked her if there 
 were any repairs that she would like to have made in
 
 "SWEET HOME." 151 
 
 the house. She divined at once that he was the owner, 
 but chose not to know visibly. 
 
 " I do not doubt that there may be something want- 
 ing, sir," she said ; " but the apartment pleases me so 
 much that I have not, as yet, seen any defects." 
 
 " Whenever you do," the Prince said, smiling slight- 
 ly, " tell my major-domo, and he will do whatever may 
 be necessary." 
 
 Valeria courtesied, and became aware to whom she 
 was speaking. The Prince made a very magnificent 
 bow, and retired. 
 
 " I was afraid you might object to being in the 
 house with Miss Cromo," Miss Chaplin said. " Other- 
 wise I thought the place would suit you. It seems 
 so retired, yet is really central." 
 
 " Oh ! I do not mind Miss Cromo," Valeria replied, 
 " We need not disturb each other." 
 
 So the bargain was made, and she went back to 
 stay another week in Palestrina, and finish the last 
 chapter of her book. 
 
 Oh that first book! written with what pleasure, 
 as if one were singing, and with what pain that we 
 can so little express what we would write! How 
 confident we are while writing, how sure to please ! 
 Then, when it is out of our hands, past recall and past 
 mending, how all our pleasure and confidence seem 
 to have been an illusion ! The faults we saw grow 
 like evening shadows; the merits we fancied were 
 there diminish and disappear. We had imagined 
 that we had something to say to the world, and, hav- 
 ing spoken, we shrink at our own presumption, and 
 would fain hide ourselves. How can we hope that 
 an echo will come back to us ! 
 
 The book was finished and sent, however. She 
 tore it out of her own hands, that would fain have 
 written it all over again, and tried to put it out of her 
 mind as well.
 
 152 BY THE TIBER. 
 
 There were a few days left to revisit some of the 
 pleasant summer haunts : one more long walk through 
 a ripe wheat-field that stirred in golden waves far 
 overhead; one more loitering under a deep-shad- 
 owed fig-tree to see which fig had the golden honey- 
 drop oozing from its tip that sagged heavy with 
 sweetness; one more climb to the wild little moun- 
 tain-top hamlet, with its quiet church lighted up 
 more by Pietro da Cortona's picture than even by 
 the airy upper light of the sun, and a last long breath 
 of that mountain-air, which inebriates like the wine 
 of the gods, sending the vigor of early youth along 
 the limbs, and a gladness as of immortal childhood 
 through the heart, almost lifting the flesh off the soul ; 
 one more hour with Tasso in the dense warm air 
 under the ilex boughs of the Barberini garden, with 
 the landscape swimming in mists, and the honeyed 
 breath of flowers and fragrant laurel creeping around 
 the gray old masks and statues, and through the sun- 
 streaked gloom. And at last there was but one even- 
 ing left 
 
 They went over, a half dozen of them, to spend it 
 at the Generale, a villa just outside the eastern gate 
 of the city. It was a modern house of almost palatial 
 size, built upon solid ancient foundations, and sur- 
 rounded by gardens and vineyards. The house was 
 untenanted, its owners, two young brothers scarcely 
 over twenty, living in the Piazza of the town ; but 
 dances and dinners were often given in its large halls, 
 and there were little garden-parties every afternoon 
 toward sunset. The usual place of reception was the 
 cellar, which opened out by two great doors even with 
 the garden. Inside, two large rooms were divided 
 and supported by fine stone arches, which had the 
 beauty of strength and proportion, if not of finish. 
 Hogsheads of wine lay around the dark walls, and 
 extended into the black grottos that reached far be-
 
 "SWEET HOME." 153 
 
 yond the house, under a street and into the mountain. 
 In the circle of light about the open door was a table 
 with chairs. One of the young men filled a decanter 
 of sunny white wine from a hogshead near by, the 
 other went farther back into the grotto and drew a 
 decanter of red wine. No one was allowed to leave 
 their grounds without tasting of their wine. 
 
 Outside the sun was setting, making the grape- 
 leaves ruddy, and blushing along the thickly set 
 bunches of white grapes, riot yet ripe, till here and 
 there one shone like a carbuncle. There were roses 
 about, and lavender. There was a group of contadine 
 outside picking the leaves from mulberry boughs to 
 feed the silkworms. The deep blue mountain chain 
 flushed to a red-purple, and the distant silvery ones 
 became rose-colored. The sky was as clear as a crys- 
 tal, and there was a moon three days old in it, and 
 soon there would be a star. 
 
 The little company sat inside the cellar-door, but 
 looking out, themselves a picture without their know- 
 ing it. They talked, laughed, and sipped the cool 
 wine that was the essence of just such days as that 
 in a vanished year. There was the Signor Eduardo, 
 the Professor, two or three young ladies, Rosa, and 
 Valeria. 
 
 When the twilight fell, they went out into the gar- 
 den, and one of their hosts brought a mandolin, and 
 sang to it. He was a laughing young Romeo with 
 a sweet voice, and years of romantic adventure before 
 him. As he sang, the Dane turned -his eyes upon 
 Rosa, who sat with hers drooping. It suddenly oc- 
 curred to him to wonder where all her laughter had 
 flown. He could not recollect when he had heard her 
 laugh. And was it possible that she was proud ! If 
 it had been any one else sitting with those folded 
 hands and lowered lids, he would have said that she 
 was proud-looking. But when some one touched and
 
 154 BY THE TIBER. 
 
 spoke to her, the childlike smile and simple air re- 
 turned. 
 
 Then her eyes wandered, looking at the air, seem- 
 ing half to seek and half to avoid some object, till 
 they settled and dwelt on the handsome singer. 
 
 Young Cesare sat on the corner of a beautiful an- 
 cient marble sarcophagus that was filled with earth 
 and bright with pink and white petunias. His moist 
 dark hair escaped in waves from under a soft gray 
 hat with a green and gray feather in it, his dark eyes 
 sparkled, his slight form was thrown into a grace- 
 ful attitude as he played the mandolin and sang of 
 love. 
 
 " Confound him ! how handsome he is ! " the painter 
 thought, and felt himself old, felt himself ugly, too, 
 with his blond hair and blue eyes, that lacked that 
 Southern fire. " But his family would not let him 
 marry her. They want more money than she will 
 have." 
 
 For one minute painting seemed to him a very 
 poor business, and it seemed a very fine thing to 
 be a handsome black-eyed Italian, playing the man- 
 dolin among the vines at evening, and singing in a 
 voice more passionate even than the love-song he 
 uttered. 
 
 Valeria praised the song and the place and the 
 evening, and rose to go, delighted. For she had 
 caught a little green ray in the blue eyes of Eosa's 
 laggard lover, and she joyfully hoped that he was 
 suffering unutterable torments of jealousy. 
 
 They all accompanied her home, and took a cordial 
 leave at the door, for she was to go away early the 
 next morning. Old Chiara stood in the piazzctta, 
 waiting to take Eosa up to the palace ; and they all 
 went their ways, and the summer dissolved like a 
 dream that leaves one smiling. 
 
 The next morning, accompanied by a servant whom
 
 "SWEET HOME." 155 
 
 she had engaged in Palesfcrina, she set out for Rome, 
 " not knowing whither she went." 
 
 The apartment was a convenient one, and had been 
 very well put in order for her. Her own part, which 
 occupied all the centre and the western end, consisted 
 of three rooms, the centre being divided, and giving a 
 study looking into the garden, and a bedroom look- 
 ing into the street, with a little corridor between 
 leading to a large sala that occupied all the end 
 of the" building. The rest was given up to the ser- 
 vant. 
 
 This servant, Marta, proved very good-natured, as 
 Italian servants usually do when well paid and well 
 treated, and allowed their little thefts. But she was 
 immeasurably astonished at her mistress's manner of 
 setting up housekeeping, and at the little need she 
 had of artisti. 
 
 "But, Madama Valeria, a lady cannot do such 
 things ! " she ventured. 
 
 Valeria, who had rather imperative ideas as to a 
 servant's place, interrupted her. 
 
 " A lady is one who knows how to do everything ; 
 and I am a lady, and I can do everything. I could 
 build a house if I would take the trouble. I do not 
 wish to have any workmen here. You are strong, and 
 must exert yourself, and I shall tell you what to do. 
 I also know how to cook, and how ironing should be 
 done, and how long a pound of coffee ought to last, 
 and how much broth a pound of meat will make. 
 In short, you cannot mention a thing that any woman 
 can know which I do not know perfectly. And you 
 need never tell me what a lady should or should not 
 do, because I, being a lady, know all about it, and you, 
 being a servant, cannot possibly know anything of it." 
 
 So Marta was sent up on a ladder to hang curtains, 
 and down on her knees to scrub floors ; and she ham- 
 mered her fingers black and blue, nailing covers on to
 
 156 BY THE TIBER. 
 
 chairs ; and, when all was completed, she had to own 
 that the result exceeded her expectations. 
 
 In a week the house was in order, and, though hut 
 scantily furnished, had everything that was necessary 
 for comfort. The rest must wait for better times. 
 And in the mean time it was happiness enough to 
 have a house of her own, all her own to command in, 
 to invite to, or to exclude from, to hide in, to work in, 
 to live in. It had not been life before. It had been 
 only journeying ; now it was rest. No more listening 
 ears or peeping eyes at the keyhole, no more alien 
 habits to disjoint her own, no more sulky faces to 
 dampen her sunny mood, no more uncertainty. Seat- 
 ing herself in an arm-chair, she knew that she could 
 sit there ten years, if she chose. It was now worth 
 while to plant a flower, to frame a picture, to em- 
 broider a table-cover ; for this was home ! It was 
 worth while to put lavender and rose-leaves all about 
 in drawers, on shelves, in books and in beds, and to 
 coax even the walls to catch a faint perfume. It was 
 " sweet home ! " 
 
 Before the week was well over, a great noise began 
 to be made in the apartment underneath. Miss Cromo 
 had returned, and was setting her house in order with 
 much bustle and parade. There was a running about, 
 a thumping of furniture, a driving of nails, a rattling 
 of hand -carts, a sound of voices, with occasional little 
 feminine screams. 
 
 Valeria laughed as she heard these demonstrations. 
 " I wonder what she will say when she knows who is 
 overhead ! I hope she may not find out till I am 
 ready." 
 
 Her servant and the Prince's major-domo were the 
 only persons in town who knew her whereabout, and 
 they had been strictly forbidden to tell any one, on 
 the plea that she was not yet prepared to receive. 
 
 She had taken possession of her studio, a charming
 
 "SWEET HOME." 157 
 
 little room, and, with a writing-table before the gar- 
 den-window, was waiting, pen in hand, for a subject. 
 There were such countless little stories waiting to be 
 told, hovering in the very air, as thick as motes in a 
 sunbeam. 
 
 It was September now, with still a summer heat. 
 The garden outside was a blaze of color, blooming for 
 itself alone ; for the family were all away. Looking 
 out, one saw nothing but reds, and golds, and milk- 
 white shining out of dark green, and the brown wall, 
 with a purple mountain-top over it. 
 
 " We must build a city and a few villas around the 
 foot of that mountain. How would a pearl villa look 
 half-way up, with a great many roses and myrtles 
 about it ! A stream of bright water shall come down 
 from the top in all sorts of brook-gambols, divide 
 before it reaches the villa, one half running under 
 ground, and springing up in a fountain inside the wall. 
 The other half, heart-broken at this desertion, shall 
 throw itself downward, and fall on a peak of lapis- 
 lazuli with such force as to be dashed all into spray 
 over the flowers and grass close by the fountain ; and 
 the fountain shall laugh. Cupid and Psyche can spend 
 their honeymoon there." And a great deal more of 
 the like nonsense. 
 
 When one has to amuse one's self, one must some- 
 times be foolish. 
 
 Dropping her eyes to a little grove of camellias 
 directly before her window, Valeria saw a man stand- 
 ing there. He must have been there for some time 
 without her being aware of him. He seemed scarcely 
 aware of himself, indeed. His face was partially 
 turned toward her, and his arms hung by his side. 
 He seemed to have paused there unconsciously in 
 deep and not pleasant thought, though his lace was 
 calm. One might guess that under the h'xed and stat- 
 uesque beauty of that exterior there was a clash of
 
 158 BY THE TIBER. 
 
 thought and of passion, a desperate search, as of one 
 in a great strait, and seeking if there should be some 
 means of escape as yet unknown. 
 
 After a moment, he started slightly, lifted his eyes 
 enough to show how lustrous they were, and walked 
 slowly on, looking about him. Half absently he lifted 
 here and there a plant too heavy with blossoms, and 
 supported it, or broke off a withered leaf, touching 
 them softly and gravely, as if he reverenced them. 
 Beaching a fountain presently, he sat down on the 
 marble brink, wet both hands in the basin, clasped 
 them over his forehead, and leaned his elbows on his 
 knees, sitting there with his face hidden. 
 
 " Something is the matter with that beautiful Vit- 
 torio," Valeria thought. " I will not look at him. He 
 believes himself to be unobserved. I hope that his 
 lady love has not played him false, if he has one. 
 How could she ! " 
 
 She drew back from the window just as Marta 
 came to give her a letter that the postman had brought. 
 " It is from Nell ! " she said smilingly, and broke it 
 open. " I wonder where the gay young sailor-girl is 
 now ! " 
 
 It was in a place which could never suffer from 
 drouth, and could only be defined by certain numbers 
 of latitude and longitude. 
 
 " Dear Valeria, don't you like to be on board of 
 a ship that rolls her rail nearly under on both sides ? 
 That is what the Azorean is trying to do now, and we 
 are all perfectly satisfied. We are becalmed in a fog, 
 or befogged in a calm, as you please. I have just 
 dropped my blue veil overboard, and a porpoise has 
 carried it off. I have no doubt that he has tied it 
 around his tail in a bow-knot, and is now switching 
 it about, to all intents and porpoises the greatest 
 dandy in the briny deep." And so on. 
 
 Valeria took her pen, and wrote, at the top of a
 
 "SWEET HOME." 159 
 
 sheet, "Nelly's Letter;" then began rapidly to write 
 out a story of an imaginary letter, but a real Nelly. 
 
 The sketch was half finished when the door-bell 
 rang, there was a sound of voices in the anteroom, a 
 step in the corridor, and some one entered the sala, of 
 which the door at her elbow was open. She was too 
 much occupied to think anything except that it must 
 be Marta. 
 
 " Well ! " said a voice behind her. 
 
 She started up, and confronted Miss Cromo, who 
 stood with wide-open eyes in the studio door. 
 
 " I can't believe my eyes ! What does it mean ? " 
 the lady gasped. 
 
 " Why don't you ask me how I dare ? " said Valeria, 
 rising to meet her visitor, and really pleased to see 
 her. 
 
 " How had you the face to come here and stay, and 
 never tell me ? " cried Miss Cromo. 
 
 " How had you the face to come in when I am not 
 at home ? " was the retort. 
 
 " You have spoilt my programme," she added, while 
 Miss Cromo stood looking curiously about her. " I 
 meant to have let my card down by a string from the 
 window over your door, and waited for you to take 
 it in. How did you find out ? I forbade everybody 
 to tell." 
 
 " I know you did ; I suspected some mystery. The 
 major-domo protested that he had forgotten your name, 
 and your very pert servant did n't seem to know any- 
 thing about you." 
 
 " My servant obeys my orders," Valeria said tran- 
 quilly. " When she ceases to do so, I shall send her 
 away." 
 
 Miss Cromo paused a moment, seemed to check a 
 sharp word, then went on. " I told Burton to ask 
 the postman, and he saw a letter that was brought 
 you this morning."
 
 160 BY THE TIBER. 
 
 " What a good detective you would make ! " was 
 the response. " But you ought not to teach Burton 
 to spy." 
 
 " Show me your house ! " Miss Cromo said abruptly ; 
 then added, " You have behaved very strangely, very 
 strangely, indeed ! " 
 
 " It is you who are behaving strangely," Valeria 
 replied with decision. "There is not the slightest 
 reason why you should know anything about my 
 affairs. You have your apartment, and I have mine, 
 and we have both an equal right. I do not interfere 
 with you, and you must not interfere with me. I am 
 not a Dr. Kraus, nor a Burton, nor any of those per- 
 sons whom you can bully. It 's a vulgar word, but 
 it suits the circumstances, and describes a vulgar 
 thing." 
 
 Miss Cromo reddened violently, and there seemed 
 to be a tightness in her throat. She put her hand up 
 to her bonnet-strings, coughed a little, and made an 
 effort to control herself. Her voice was almost gentle 
 when she spoke after a minute ; but she had not con- 
 trolled the fury of her eyes. 
 
 " If you want to throw me away, you can," she 
 said. " You are the most capricious creature I ever 
 saw." 
 
 " I am not capricious, and I do not wish to throw 
 you away," Valeria replied calmly. " I want you to 
 stay within your limits as I stay within mine. You 
 are charming when you behave. Now be amiable, 
 and praise my beginning of housekeeping. Of course 
 the rooms are only half furnished to your eyes, 
 though to mine they do very well. I imagine the 
 rest. You know I can afford so little now. Are n't 
 there some lovely spaces to fill up ? " 
 
 Miss Cromo was still choking with suppressed 
 anger. She did not wish to quarrel with Valeria, 
 and she was eating her humble pie; but it went
 
 "SWEET HOME." 161 
 
 hard with her. She never liked to lose an acquaint- 
 ance. You never know when people may be useful 
 to you, was her motto. They were good for claquers, 
 if for nothing else. 
 
 Valeria went on, giving her time to recover. 
 
 " Of course I shall never have the rooms full, and I 
 do not care to. A plain, bare drawing-room' with a 
 lady in it is bien distingutf, as somebody said of the 
 Frenchman who went to a reception without his dec- 
 orations. I think it will be the next fashion ; just as 
 fashionable ladies are going to wrap themselves in 
 sheets, by and by, with nothing but a great single 
 jewel here and there to hold them on." 
 
 " I have n't the least peep into the garden," Miss 
 Cromo said, pausing in the study after her tour 
 of the house. " I had half a mind to take this 
 apartment on that account. How did you know 
 about it ? " 
 
 Valeria thought best not to divulge Miss Chap- 
 lin's part in the affair ; for though her person was 
 out of reach of the "whip-hand," her reputation 
 was not. 
 
 " The Prince came out to Palestrina and offered the 
 house to me on his bended knee," she said. " And 
 the Pope advised me to accept." 
 
 " Nonsense ! What secret can it be ? " 
 
 " It is one of my caprices not to tell I dote on 
 mysteries." 
 
 Miss Cromo was silent. 
 
 " Now don't let us quarrel ! " Valeria went on im- 
 pulsively. " Why need we clash ? I wish well to 
 you. Our aims are so different that we might well 
 get along peacefully together, and it would be un- 
 pleasant for both if we were not at peace." 
 
 " I have the greatest possible willingness to be at 
 peace with you, my dear," Miss Cromo replied sharply. 
 " The difficulty is entirely on your side." 
 11
 
 162 BY THE TIBER. 
 
 "Valeria laughed lightly. "Oh, you artful little 
 woman, I know what sort of peace you want ! It is 
 the lion and the lamb lying down together, the lamb 
 inside the lion." 
 
 " You are such a lamb ! " the other remarked sig- 
 nificantly. 
 
 " You are quite right. I am not a lamb, nor even 
 a sheep. Lambs and sheep were made to be fleeced 
 and eaten. Sit down, please." 
 
 "You will, of course, receive," Miss Cromo said, 
 seating herself. 
 
 " That depends on whether any one comes to see 
 me. I should be glad to have a few visitors. I might, 
 one of these days, give a little breakfast, now and 
 then ; but never a dinner nor a reception, though I 
 were worth millions. I would like a small select 
 circle of friends." 
 
 Miss Cromo's face showed a momentary poignant 
 mortification. She was aware that her own society 
 was anything but select. 
 
 " Mrs. Caruthers told Miss Chaplin that she would 
 come to see me as soon as I should return to town," 
 Valeria went on hastily, perceiving that she had made 
 a mistake. " She is such a person as I would like to 
 know I am told that she is a very high-minded 
 lady." And then she perceived that she had made 
 another mistake ; for her companion looked at her 
 with a sudden, sharp interest which was, to her mind, 
 out of proportion with the importance of the announce- 
 ment. She did not know what thought was behind 
 those sparkling eyes, but it made her uneasy never- 
 theless. 
 
 The thought was simply that Mrs. Caruthers should 
 not make the proposed visit, and that no lady should 
 go near Valeria whom she could keep away, and no 
 friend be faithful to her whom she could alienate. 
 For such a work her many acquaintances, even the
 
 S WEE T HOME." 163 
 
 humblest, were of use. It meant that her instinctive 
 hatred was growing with every word that Valeria 
 uttered, and that it had caught in that insane drop 
 of blood in her veins which lent fury to her pas- 
 sions. Yet after the first intent, momentary look, she 
 smiled. 
 
 "I am so glad, dear," she said. "You will like 
 her very much. You need more society. It is not 
 wholesome for a person to be so much alone, and 
 always in the clouds ; though yours is quite an ideal 
 life. You ought to have visitors in the evening, at 
 least." 
 
 " I shall have my club in the evenings." 
 
 " What club ? " demanded Miss Cromo. 
 
 " Oh ! have n't I told you that I am going to found 
 a club ? I have already two members. At first there 
 will be but seven ; and then it will be very difficult 
 for any one to gain admittance." 
 
 " What is it about ? What is it called ? " 
 
 " You must ask more prettily than that if you 
 expect to be told." 
 
 "Now, you darling, don't tease! You know that 
 you mean to tell me all about it." 
 
 " It is called the Millennial Club." 
 
 " How very odd ! Of course I am one of the two 
 members. Or am I to be the third ? " 
 
 "Neither. We are not going to admit you. It 
 would cease to be millennial if you were a member. 
 Yours is a reign of terror." 
 
 " I will terrify you into admitting me. You know 
 I am as sweet as a kitten when I am pleased. You 
 can make me secretary. I write a good clear hand." 
 
 " You can't come in." 
 
 " I shall be here the very first one. Why do you 
 call it the Millennial Club ? What are you going 
 to do ? " 
 
 ' I will never tell you. I will perish first 1 "
 
 164 BY THE TIBER. 
 
 " Tell me instantly what the club is for ! " 
 
 " We are going to correct the abuses of the world." 
 
 " Just what I should like ! How do you correct 
 them ? I can be vice-president." 
 
 " We shall vote a sufficient income to all the poor 
 people, and let the rest be as rich as they please. We 
 shall reward the good, and punish the bad. But we 
 won't have you." 
 
 " It is just what is needed. I will be treasurer." 
 
 " One of our first acts will be to burn you in effigy. 
 You will not enter the club in any other form." 
 
 " Nothing could be nicer. I will be president. 
 And I will bring a little metal monk I have to put 
 the candles out with to exhort my effigy in her last 
 moments. Perhaps I will have him miraculously 
 extinguish the flames. It will be a scene to paint. 
 And now I must go," she added, rising. "I have 
 some things to do ; and then I have promised to take 
 Mr. Green to the Arcadia this afternoon." 
 
 "So you are reconciled to the Arcadia," Valeria 
 said. 
 
 " I was never out with it," Miss Cromo replied, 
 growing sharp again. 
 
 " But you did not like it, you know. You told me 
 it was a bore, and you never went." 
 
 " I never said so ! " declared Miss Cromo, but with- 
 out looking at Valeria. 
 
 " Don't you recollect telling me about the poems 
 that were nothing but words, and the two bishops, 
 one smelling of tobacco, and the other with dirty 
 hands ? " 
 
 " Oh ! I never said it ! I never said it !" cried Miss 
 Cromo, and, looking upward, seemed to call heaven to 
 witness to her sincerity. 
 
 Valeria regarded her attentively, and recollected 
 what a lady had once said to her of Miss Cromo : 
 " She will lie you right down to your face."
 
 "SWEET HOME:' 165 
 
 " I am glad you have changed your mind," she said 
 dryly. 
 
 Miss Crorno said no more. There had been no re- 
 sentment in her denial. She merely wished it to be 
 understood that she was going to deny. 
 
 " How is Burton ? " Valeria asked, as they went 
 toward the door. " I suppose he is helping you to 
 set your house in order. I should be glad to see him 
 if he has ever a minute to spare me." 
 
 Burton was a young painter, and Miss Cromo's fac- 
 totum. She had sometimes been useful to him, and 
 he was far more useful to her. He was her escort, 
 her errand-boy, her agent, her slave, and she led him 
 a dog's life from which he could not escape. Perhaps 
 he did not wish to escape, and had become so accus- 
 tomed to his bondage that he would have been lost 
 without it ; but he had had his moments of rebellion 
 when the rein had been too tightly drawn. On such 
 occasions her complaints had been loud and long to 
 all her friends. Valeria had herself been wearied 
 by them, for she liked Burton, and considered him 
 to be far more a gentleman than Miss Crorao was a 
 lady. He was a good fellow when not influenced by 
 her. 
 
 "A perfect boor, my dear," she would say. "I 
 really shall have to turn him off, for I caunot bear 
 any longer his 'grand, gloomy, and peculiar' ways. 
 Mrs. Polo asked me the other day how I could per- 
 mit him to speak to me so impudently, and said that 
 I ought to exact more respect. But he is a boor, and 
 that is all that you can say of him." Then, if a ser- 
 vice were wanted from the young man, who so good 
 as he ? Nor was this a mere selfish and ungrateful 
 caprice, which, being understood, could harm no one. 
 For Burton's reputation for manliness had suffered 
 with his well-wishers, who looked on him as rather a 
 poor-spirited fellow, while those who were indifferent
 
 166 BY THE TIBER. 
 
 to him believed the evil that Miss Cromo said, and 
 paid no attention to her sweeter moods. 
 
 The last that Valeria had heard from Mm in the 
 spring had excited her compassion. " Burton cannot 
 show any more of his airs," Miss Cromo had said to 
 her gleefully. " He is poor now, completely out of 
 money, and I have got him under my thumb." 
 
 She had made no comment on the coarseness of 
 feeling which had dictated this speech, and had 
 checked an impulse to remind the speaker of a bitter 
 time when she had herself been poor, and in need of 
 friendly help. 
 
 CHAPTEE XVIII. 
 
 A GOOD-NATURED FELLOW. 
 
 nPO say that Vittorio was unhappy would be to 
 A give no idea of his state of mind. He was 
 simply in torment. 
 
 He had loved the Donna Adelaide with an impas- 
 sioned worship which she had herself degraded. But, 
 though degraded, it was not dead. He clung to her 
 broken and dishonored image with a passion that was 
 sometimes half hate ; for he had nothing else. Such 
 as she was, she was his. Intense, morbid, ideal, he 
 had never held himself to be bound by the code of 
 a social order which his birth had placed him outside 
 of; and he acknowledged no allegiance save that 
 which he paid to nature. In his way he was singu- 
 larly honorable, more so than many a pretender to 
 moral excellence. He had no little vices nor mean- 
 nesses, and he had noble virtues. But his one crime he 
 placed on a pedestal, and defended. It was not a crime 
 for him, he thought; since everything that he could
 
 A GOOD-NATURED FELLOW. 167 
 
 desire oil earth was so hedged in that he could obtain 
 nothing without stealing it. This might have been 
 an ideal love if she had willed it so. He would have 
 worshipped her as an angel if she had chosen. But 
 she had come down to him, and now she was his, 
 he said. She could never go up to that ideal height 
 again. 
 
 She had never tried to, indeed. She had never, 
 even at the first, attempted to play the role of an 
 angel, or made any disguise of her own baseness. 
 She took baseness as a matter of course, not being 
 able to imagine anything different. Nothing would 
 have seemed to her more ridiculous than that a man 
 should give her an ideal worship. She would have 
 thought him an idiot. 
 
 She had, then, made no pretence of penitence, but 
 had merely become prudent. Her family suspected 
 her, she said. They had put a young man in the 
 garden on purpose to watch her. She dropped all 
 that wild adventurous spirit which had at first made 
 her prepare for and baffle every suspicion. She was 
 afraid. She explained, and sought to conciliate Vit- 
 torio. Sometimes she had moments of haughty im- 
 patience with him ; and then afterward she humbled 
 herself. She was a hypocrite, and he knew it. He 
 knew that she was tired of him, but also that she was 
 afraid of him. What he did not know, what he was 
 wild to know, was if some one else had taken his 
 place. He felt that it must be so, yet could find out 
 nothing. Sometimes he had seemed to be on the 
 point of discovery ; then all had dissolved before him 
 like a mist. The same means which she had used to 
 baffle others, she was now using to baffle him. He 
 felt sure of it. 
 
 And this young man whom she pretended to be- 
 lieve was set to spy upon her, Vittorio believed 
 that he was hired by her to guard her against him.
 
 168 BY THE TIBER. 
 
 He had known the fellow by sight all his life. Bruno 
 was from the little mountain-town of San Pietro, above 
 Palestrina, and knew no more of gardening than a cat 
 knows. 
 
 " Pretend that you are glad to have him here, and 
 want his help, and that will deceive them," she had 
 said to Vittorio. 
 
 " Vittorio wants him, though I don't see the need," 
 she said to her family. " Still, as he has a certain 
 sum allowed him to hire what assistance he wants, I 
 suppose he may spend it as he likes. Since you will 
 keep such a strange, assuming fellow, of course you 
 must yield to his caprices." 
 
 The truth was, Vittorio did not pay the young man 
 a penny. The mystery was, who did pay him. He 
 certainly did not lack money ; and he never did any- 
 thing of work except when some one of the family 
 was in sight. 
 
 " Why should he pretend to work before them if 
 they put him here as a spy ? " Vittorio asked. 
 
 " Because they want him to deceive you, and he 
 makes them think that he works like that all the 
 time." 
 
 It was a tangle ; and perhaps if they had all spoken 
 the truth to each other's faces, the matter would have 
 been no clearer ; for not one would have believed what 
 any other said. The truth was a fish which they never 
 took from any other person's hook in that acqua tor- 
 bida which composed their social element. They be- 
 lieved what they saw, and nothing more. 
 
 The Prince had refused to dismiss Vittorio. " His 
 sulkiness does not trouble me, and he is a good gar- 
 dener," he said. " He never brings people about, nor 
 asks favors. I believe that he is an honest fellow. 
 Let him keep Bruno, if he likes." 
 
 This Bruno was a vulgarly handsome fellow of 
 twenty-two, or thereabouts. He was lazy, pleasure-lov-
 
 A GOOD-NATURED FELLOW. 169 
 
 ing, and unprincipled. He was not vindictive, lie was 
 even called good-natured ; but it was that good-nature 
 which is not incompatible with any cruelty or crime. 
 In the childish days when he had gone down into the 
 fields to work, he had been a cleverer little thief than 
 the other boys of his age, and had lied with greater 
 dexterity. He had never had any scruples of con- 
 science about it. He did not know what conscience 
 meant. His father and mother, who were good, pious 
 people in their way, lied with an absolute tranquillity, 
 quite as a matter of course, and reckoned how much 
 they could steal from the rich without being guilty 
 of a mortal sin, and never intimated, probably never 
 suspected, that honesty had any positive boundaries. 
 His companions had had a great admiration for him 
 in those days ; for he had known how to invent sto- 
 ries and circumstances, and to prepare whole chapters 
 for any denouement which he had fixed upon with a 
 dexterity and forethought which could not have been 
 excelled. He had a great talent for this sort of 
 enterprise. 
 
 But he had no talent for labor, nor for study, nor 
 for denying himself anything that he wanted ; and his 
 early life had been hateful to him. 
 
 A rather unpleasant circumstance had taken him 
 away from that life when he was scarcely fourteen. 
 
 We have said that Bruno was good-natured ; and 
 the proof of the rule was that once in a great while 
 he got into a terrible fury. It was seldom ; but these 
 exceptions were strong enough to make themselves 
 remembered. It was not his fault, he said. People 
 should let him alone. If Gian had n't held his arms, 
 nothing would have happened. 
 
 As it was, the unfortunate Gian, who had got Bruno 
 down in a fight, and held him pinioned with one hand 
 while he beat him with the other, had been nearly 
 killed. For Bruno's fingers at least were free, and
 
 170 BY THE TIBER. 
 
 they had got his knife out, and pricked Gian in the 
 side ; and when Gian, feeling that sharp point, had 
 loosened his hold, he had received two furious stabs, 
 and had fallen bathed in blood. 
 
 Bruno had had to fly, of course, and had run half- 
 way to Eome, believing that Gian was dead. And 
 he did well to run ; for that the boy was not dead 
 would not have saved his life. Those people have 
 quick feelings, and Gian's brothers would not have 
 waited for the slow life to return to that pale face of 
 his before plunging their daggers in little Bruno's 
 palpitating heart. 
 
 He reached Kome, and he stayed there, half starv- 
 ing for a while, but after a few weeks finding a place 
 as errand-boy in a house where there appeared to be a 
 great many errands to do. Little by little, he had 
 shown that he could perform sly commissions with 
 uncommon success, and he learned that such talents 
 always found employment. His life suited him ad- 
 mirably now. To follow some person about the city 
 all day, and report everything that he had clone, 
 without his knowing that he was watched ; or to 
 keep guard over a certain house, and tell who entered 
 it ; or to give a lira or a cigar to some house-porter, 
 and draw from him all that he knew about the tenants ; 
 or to make friends with the servants and find out still 
 more private affairs, that was to feel himself a per- 
 son of consequence. 
 
 There was a variety of adventure and of unex- 
 pected incidents and combinations in this life which 
 kept him continually merry. He did not always know 
 for whom he was working, and he never showed any 
 curiosity. When he did know, he pretended igno- 
 rance ; and never by word or look hinted at the secret 
 intelligence that really existed, except with his most 
 intimate associates in the same business. The servant- 
 girls were invaluable to him. He knew Marta, who
 
 A GOOD-NATURED FELLOW. 171 
 
 lived with the American lady in the casuccia, and just 
 how Madama Valeria sat always by the garden window 
 looking out, and just what she had in her house, and 
 who visited her, and whom she visited. Yet he never 
 glanced up at her window, nor seemed aware of her 
 existence. If he wished to know if she were there, 
 he went behind the trees and peeped. 
 
 "What have they let that apartment for?" the 
 Countess Belvedere had asked angrily, on seeing a 
 curtain at the window. " Find out who is there." 
 
 This had been said to her maid. The Countess 
 affected not to know Bruno, and he affected not to 
 know that he was in her service. He could not have 
 proved it. If he had made such an assertion, she 
 would have stared at him with her bold eyes, and 
 scorned to answer. A gentleman's gentleman had 
 placed him in the garden, and given him his orders ; 
 and he knew better than to ask any questions. His 
 own safety depended on his discretion. At a hint of 
 betrayal, who knew how many would have been against 
 him ? 
 
 So when, on giving the maid a detailed account of 
 Valeria's affairs, Lucia had cast an angry glance at the 
 window, and said, " I wish that she would go out of 
 that house ! " he understood perfectly well that he was 
 to make the American lady wish to move away. But 
 he knew equally well that he must use great caution, 
 though the lady did not seem to be a person of much 
 consequence. She went out but little, had few visitors, 
 and was not rich, certainly. Still, their way was to 
 act cautiously and circuitously. 
 
 She sat all day watching what went on in the gar- 
 den. Of course she was watching. What else was 
 she there for ? Of course she suspected something ; 
 for there was something to suspect. Of eourse her 
 mind was occupied with such things. All the people 
 he knew occupied their minds with the affairs of
 
 172 BY THE TIBER. 
 
 others ; it was his own profession ; what else should 
 she think of ? 
 
 And he knew perfectly well what to do. No vio- 
 lence, oh, no ! Only a bungler would be rude. He 
 knew a man who would hang about and smile im- 
 pudently in her face whenever she came down her 
 steps. There was another who would follow her home 
 when she went out. There were certain things that 
 he could say or cause to be said to the grocer's men 
 up the street which would make them stare at her 
 whenever she went by, and come out and look after 
 her, and do everything but speak to her. These 
 people could go to her door with strange inquiries and 
 stranger messages. 
 
 It was not necessary to do anything great. All that 
 was needed was a series of petty annoyances which 
 would sound like nothings, when told, but which would 
 make her wish to go away. Besides, some means 
 must be used to injure her credit with her friends, so 
 that, if she should tell any tales, they might not be 
 believed. But this belonged to higher circles than his, 
 to people who knew her friends. Still even there he 
 could help. He could tell his employers, or have told 
 to them, any story which they might wish to repeat. 
 But they must give him a hint. 
 
 It was not the first affair of the kind in which he 
 had been employed. Why, only the winter before 
 they had smiled and looked and whispered a French 
 lady out of town. Somebody wanted her to go, and 
 go she did. Yet if she had described her grievances, 
 no one would have believed that she actually had to 
 go in consequence of them. She was alone, and though 
 she had friends, they were not relatives, and she had 
 no real protection. She could not complain of any 
 one in particular ; for the moment she fixed her eyes 
 threateningly on one whom she had met too often, he 
 disappeared. The next time it was another. In all,
 
 A GOOD-NATURED FELLOW. 173 
 
 it had taken about twenty of them ; and they had 
 grinned and whispered and stared her out of Kome. 
 Nobody would believe her. They thought that her 
 imagination deceived her. It was a great help to 
 Bruno and his friends that outside of their happy 
 circle most people were as stupid as idiots about such 
 affairs, and did not wish to inform themselves. They 
 would know that a man was a liar, yet believe all 
 that he said; they would know that he was subtle 
 and intriguing, yet refuse to believe that he would 
 seek to attain his ends by any but the most bungling 
 means. This stupidity was a great help to them. 
 
 Then there was that other, a gentleman this time. 
 They had driven him crazy. Bruno almost died of 
 laughter when he thought of it. They began by 
 watching and following him with pretended secrecy, 
 till they had attracted his attention. Then they sent 
 a brigand two or three times to hang about his door, 
 and on the stair. Then they made friends with a 
 waiter in the hotel where he boarded, and had the 
 man drop salt or sugar out of a tiny paper into his 
 soup or wine, so that he had not dared to taste either. 
 They had stared at him fixedly and strangely. At 
 first the man had been astonished, then nervous, then 
 terrified ; and after a mouth or two he had begun to 
 act very strangely ; and at last, he had actually become 
 insane. It was great fun. 
 
 That the French lady had been truly a lady, and a 
 delicate and refined woman, and that the gentleman 
 had been honorable and cultivated, though not too 
 strong of mind, only made the fun the greater. If 
 they had been dishonest persons, they would have 
 been let alone. 
 
 This smiling, good-natured human reptile would 
 have known perfectly well how to apply the torture 
 of the drop by drop of water. He was, indeed, inval- 
 uable to his employers, who did not like to descend to
 
 174 BY THE TIBER. 
 
 small details. It was enough for them to give their 
 money, and a hint ; and they preferred to give only 
 such a hint as could be made nothing of in a court of 
 justice. Not that courts of justice would ever dream 
 of having anything to do with them, however. They 
 were too respectable. But it was best to be always 
 on the safe side. They even gave their money in 
 a prudent way. " Here are five lire for that good 
 fellow who picked up the cane I dropped this morning. 
 It is a valuable cane, and I should have been very 
 sorry to lose it." And perhaps the so-called five lire 
 were five times five, or ten times five, arid a sign had 
 indicated what cane was to be picked up next. 
 
 It is always best to be prudent. Prudence is a 
 great virtue. Does she not hold the mirror to Justice ? 
 
 Bruno was at Villa Mitella to keep watch on Vit- 
 torio, that he did not find out certain affairs which 
 were none of his business, and to try to persuade him 
 to go away, to emigrate, to jump into the Tiber, if he 
 had a fancy to do so, and to make himself generally 
 useful. 
 
 He did not dislike Vittorio. He merely thought 
 him a fool. He had always thought him a fool. 
 A fellow who stood apart from everybody, neglecting 
 advantages which would have given him place and 
 money, and glowering at fortune, what was such a 
 fellow but a fool ? If he, Bruno, had had Vittorio' s 
 chance with the Countess Belvedere, he would have 
 made his fortune by it, and climbed, who knows where ? 
 But the fellow was a fool, and bent on destruction. 
 Still he wished him no harm, though Vittorio treated 
 him scornfully. Bruno was good-natured. 
 
 Bruno's good-nature was a certain physical quality 
 combined with indifference. He was self-centred, and 
 had no outward clinging fibres to tear. Wherever 
 he was, there was the thing which he loved best, 
 himself. Such natures roll as easily as balls. Their
 
 A GOOD-NATURED FELLOW. 175 
 
 particles all press toward the centre, and wherever 
 they may roll or stop, they are always right side up. 
 Only they do not like to get into a corner. 
 
 Bruno always carried a knife. All his fellows did. 
 All the boys in Palestrina had carried them when lie 
 was young, and those who were rich enough carried 
 revolvers. The law does not allow men or boys to 
 carry weapons, you say ? What of that ? What was 
 the law ? It had never touched him. Bruno looked 
 upon the law as a very good joke. He laughed at it. 
 All that he feared was vendetta, the people's law. 
 Why, he knew plenty of men, yes, and women too, 
 who ought to be hanged, if the law was to be believed ; 
 and yet nobody was safer than they. They were 
 more safe than honest people were. 
 
 So much for Bruno. 
 
 Vittorio, who knew enough about him, was some- 
 times minded to put him out of the garden. But 
 the thought that he might then have to go himself 
 restrained him. Not to be able to see the woman he 
 loved, to reproach her, to watch her, to be tormented 
 by her, that he could not endure. For him, all out- 
 side that garden-wall was a desert, though within all 
 was misery. Still who knew, if he should stay, what 
 sudden, unexpected happiness might start up some 
 day ! He was still so young that utter ruin seemed 
 impossible. And who knew, if the happiness should 
 fail him, what sudden vengeance, almost as sweet, 
 might break through all this darkness and uncertainty, 
 and drive them asunder, as the lightning breaks the 
 cloud and lets the sunshine out ? He could not be- 
 lieve that he was to have no one drop of sweetness in 
 all his poisoned life. For if Adelaide did not love 
 him now, then she never had loved him, and he had 
 not even a memory. 
 
 " I wish she were dead ! " he cried out more than 
 once, in his anguish.
 
 176 BY THE TIBER. 
 
 The Countess Belvedere had had an eccentric freak 
 this summer, though it was a freak not unknown to 
 ladies of fashion. She had chosen to bury herself in 
 a solitary place to rest her complexion and her hair, 
 and to get a little lustre back to her eyes. So she 
 had said. And she had gone, with only Bruno and 
 her maid, to Nettuno, had taken an apartment in 
 the old Palazzo Doria, and was passing the months of 
 July and August in taking baths, reading novels, and 
 going to bed at Ave Maria, 
 
 Vittorio, who had seen no diminution of her beauty, 
 did not believe the story she told, though it was half 
 true. But there was no help for it. He must wait 
 for her to come back. And it was like waiting iu 
 flames of fire. What was she doing, and whom did 
 she see ? There w r as a certain person whom he hated, 
 and who was also out of town. Where was he ? 
 
 He walked the garden studying this problem, and 
 stared into the flowers, as if for an answer. He 
 walked the street, and tossed on his sleepless bed, 
 thinking it over. He paused in his meals, with the 
 food or the glass half raised to his lips, studying over 
 it. His cheeks were burnt away with the inward 
 fire, and all his flesh consumed. People started when 
 they met his large, glowing eyes. 
 
 " If she were dead, I could be at rest," he thought. 
 " But never while she lives, never ! never ! " 
 
 The Countess Belvedere was very far from being 
 dead. She was in high life and health. She was learn- 
 ing to swim from some people who came over almost 
 every day from Porto d' Anzio. She lay in bed in 
 the morning until, through tiny cracks in the shutters, 
 the sunlighted ripples of the sea sent in reflections, 
 as into a photographer's camera, and all the dusky 
 painted ceiling seemed to swarm with dancing fireflies. 
 Then she went out and plunged into the warm green 
 water, and swam up to the high rocks, and took the
 
 A GOOD-NATURED FELLOW. 177 
 
 spray they sent back over her. If she was alone, 
 Bruno followed with a boat, and perhaps took her 
 back. But she was seldom alone. 
 
 In the evening she leaned in her balcony over the 
 sea, where Olympia Maldacchini had once leaned. 
 For this was her palace ; and the black foundations 
 of her ruined baths were there beneath the loggia, 
 rippled over by sunny rollers when the tide was high 
 and the weather calm, but wreathed and hidden in 
 angry foam when the scirocco or the ugly south-west 
 wind blew. When the waves rolled in and struck, 
 and tossed their foam up along the walls of this castle 
 by the sea, and even into the loggia, then the Coun- 
 tess Belvedere shut herself into her room, and read 
 novels, or she was entertained by visitors. She saw 
 no beauty in a storrn or an angry sea. When a 
 tempest of thunder and lightning came, she wrung 
 her hands and prayed. She knew that she deserved 
 to be struck dead. When it cleared away she re- 
 ceived her lover. 
 
 On white moonlighted nights she went out boating, 
 and sometimes stayed till the east began to quicken 
 with another day. On dark starlit nights she stayed 
 in the house. She hated darkness, and she hated 
 solitude. 
 
 Of course she was never alone. Carriages came 
 up from Porto d' Anzio by day, and boats by day or 
 by night. A boat could come over that soundless, 
 trackless highway, and land its passengers just under 
 her loggia ; then a dozen steps round under the dark 
 archway, and they were at her door. 
 
 It was all very pleasant as long as the novelty 
 lasted. When that was worn off, she went back to 
 Palazzo Mitella. And then, seeing a white muslin 
 curtain over the window of the casuccia, she demanded 
 who was there, with the result which we have seen. 
 
 12
 
 178 BY THE TIBER. 
 
 CHAPTEE XIX. 
 
 REJECTED HELP. 
 
 THE Countess Belvedere was beginning to be 
 alarmed, and her alarm increased as the weeks 
 passed. Her husband had ceased to accuse her, but 
 he was more than ever watchful. Her father scarcely 
 addressed a word to her, except in the presence of 
 others. Even before the servants he disregarded her. 
 Some of her relatives had fallen into the habit of 
 coming to see her unexpectedly, and of questioning 
 the servants rather awkwardly as to her whereabouts 
 when she was not at home. Apparently people were 
 beginning to fear that they could no longer pretend 
 ignorance of her character. 
 
 The winter months passed in a keen and silent 
 battle, full of pleasure and excitement, but full of 
 fear ; and with the spring a crisis approached. 
 
 Cardinal Meronda, a Spanish prelate of distin- 
 guished reputation, was coming to Borne in Easter 
 week, and everything depended on him. Many years 
 before, when he was a young Monsignore, and the 
 Prince, new in his purchased title, was living in Na- 
 ples, the two had been close friends ; and their friend- 
 ship had never entirely ceased, though their meetings 
 had been few and brief. Monsignor Meronda had 
 passed several years in Naples, and was the godfather 
 of the Donna Adelaide. It behooved her to stand 
 well with him. 
 
 Was it only pressing occupations which had made 
 him delay so long in answering her cordial invitation 
 to make Villa Mitella his home during his stay in 
 Rome, and rendered the letter of reply so much more 
 courteous than friendly ? He would first pass a few
 
 REJECTED HELP. 179 
 
 days in a monastery, and he could not decide upon 
 her invitation till he should be in Rome. 
 
 Her father and her husband both looked at her 
 with lowering brows as she read out this ambiguous 
 and chilling reply. 
 
 "If he does not come, it will be because he has 
 heard tales of you," the Count exclaimed, and flung 
 angrily out of the room. 
 
 " He is such a brute ! " she muttered, looking after 
 him, and not daring to glance in her father's face. 
 
 " The truth is brutal," he responded gloomily, " and 
 you may yet find it become more so." He rose from 
 the table where they had been lingering after dinner. 
 " See to it that our invitation is accepted, or that we 
 have some reason which will not be suspected. And 
 if these scandals do not cease, remember Cecilia 
 Bari ! " 
 
 She shivered at the name, for Cecilia Bari had been 
 suddenly snatched by her family out of a too free life, 
 and had disappeared into a seclusion from which she 
 never again emerged ; and though she was at this time 
 insane, it was well known that insanity had been the 
 effect, not the cause of her confinement. That was at 
 the South ; but the same might happen at Rome. 
 
 " What can it mean ? " she said to her maid that night. 
 " I have been as careful as possible." 
 
 " Bruno says that it is the Americana" the girl whis- 
 pered. " She is always at the window, and she must 
 have told. Marta says that she sits there sometimes 
 in the dark. To-day she saw Bruno talking with 
 Marta, and she looked at him with certi occhi 
 She laughed. " He told Marta that her signora had 
 taken a fancy to Vittorio, and was jealous of me." 
 
 The Countess was too much disturbed to laugh. 
 " It is a good idea to say that," she remarked, " but 
 that is not enough." 
 
 It was now mid-Lent, and she set herself to work
 
 180 BY THE TIBER. 
 
 without delay. She weiit to confession and Com- 
 munion in a much-frequented church, and she com- 
 mitted these sacrileges with such devotion that every 
 one was edified. Then she began to go to Mass daily ; 
 and she called upon her most respectable friends, and 
 interested herself in selling tickets for a raffle for 
 some impoverished nuns. When Holy Week came, 
 she spent half of each of the last three days in church, 
 dressed and veiled in the deepest black. And she ate 
 fish all the week, and fasted on Good Friday. 
 
 On Easter Sunday she again sacrificed to Satan and 
 Society in a Communion in the morning ; and in the 
 afternoon she appeared at solemn vespers in a new 
 dress and bonnet, and a smile of joy for the Resur- 
 rection. 
 
 Her convent education had taught her what senti- 
 ments were proper to the occasion, and she imitated 
 them admirably. 
 
 The Countess had a suspicion of what was, in fact, 
 the truth, that she had less to fear from the lady 
 in the casuccia from any one, indeed, who was not 
 necessarily connected with her affairs than from 
 the zeal of her own assistants. Still, the American 
 must be got rid of. 
 
 She studied over the matter. Miss Pendleton, 
 whom she knew well, could easily be made to believe 
 that Valeria should leave the place, and to recommend 
 her to some other where all she should say would be 
 known ; and it would be easy to find some one to talk 
 to Miss Pendleton. For the Countess herself must 
 seem to know nothing of the matter. There was a 
 certain Miss Crankey, a gossiping American, who was 
 known to busy herself very much in other people's 
 affairs, and to talk a great deal, and with ill-concealed 
 ill-nature, of the Signora Valeria. This little woman, 
 excellent but ridiculous, and not a little jealous, had 
 an ambition to know as many Monsignori as pos-
 
 REJECTED HELP. 181 
 
 sible, and to be considered a person of great influence 
 in the church. She was one of the most active in 
 preventing these reverend gentlemen visiting that 
 black sheep, Miss Cromo. Of course, the fact that, 
 had Miss Cromo been orthodox and honest, she would 
 have reduced the Crankey to a nonentity in her own 
 province, could have had no effect. Well, undoubt- 
 edly this little woman would not in the least object to 
 have something to tell of the Signora Valeria, and she 
 was sure to tell it to Miss Pendleton. It could easily 
 be arranged. The Countess, through some of her 
 gossips, knew all about these people. And there was 
 a person who occasionally visited the Crankey on pur- 
 pose to learn all the gossip that she knew, and tell her 
 all that they wanted to have spread about. 
 
 Everything succeeded perfectly. The Countess 
 thought that Providence plainly favored her in re- 
 ward for the pious example she had given. For even 
 though one should be guilty of some little private 
 omissions of duty (she called them mancanze), it is 
 always a virtue to set a good example in public. 
 
 Cardinal Meronda arrived, and having heard from 
 a friend of the admirable behavior of his goddaughter, 
 took up his abode after a few days in Villa Mitella. 
 An apartment in the south wing was given up to him, 
 a carriage placed at his disposal, and he could order 
 luncheon at whatever hour he pleased for himself and 
 any persons whom he might choose to invite. He 
 was offered a private dinner ; but he graciously pre- 
 ferred to dine with the family. 
 
 Moreover, after a .few days, when all the Catholics 
 of any distinction in Eome had paid their respects to 
 the great man, a grand papalina reception was given 
 for him in Villa Mitella. These papalina receptions 
 had become a thing of the past, the great Catholic 
 families having hung their harps on the willows on 
 the fall of the temporal power; but they could not
 
 182 BY THE TIBER. 
 
 refuse to honor this distinguished visitor, whose 
 name was equally illustrious for virtue, learning, and 
 elegance. 
 
 Therefore, one evening late in April, Palazzo Mitella 
 " flared like a beacon ;" and the streets in front echoed 
 to the carriages that set down their loads at its por- 
 tone, through which a scene of enchantment was vis- 
 ible beyond the entering guests, and the servants in 
 their gay liveries. 
 
 For the garden also was lighted, not too brightly, 
 but with a fairy-like sprinkling and clustering of col- 
 ored lamps, that left here and there a shady walk. 
 One of the pine-trunks in the temple of Undine was 
 wreathed about with tiny gold-colored lamps, and 
 others shone above in the dark boughs ; and light was 
 so arranged from unseen lamps about the fountain 
 that the nestling jet arose like molten gold, and fell 
 and scattered like sparks of fire. Nearly all the 
 water was lighted. Only one slender fountain showed 
 white and ghost-like among the roses ; and the roses 
 were all in darkness. 
 
 " I have never seen anything more beautiful, dear 
 child," the Cardinal said to his goddaughter, when 
 all was ready. 
 
 He was exceedingly well pleased with her ; for the 
 Countess, intending to make assurance doubly sure, 
 and to consecrate her/ esta as almost a religious cere- 
 mony, had again made a Communion in the villa 
 chapel that morning, receiving from the hand of her 
 godfather. The Prince had served the Mass, and all 
 the household had assisted. Even the Count, a late 
 sleeper, had crept in, yawning, when the service was 
 nearly over, and made himself visible at the benedic- 
 tion. " Cursed hypocrite ! " he muttered, on seeing 
 his wife go up to the altar steps. But her father, 
 having something of the Cardinal's own sweetness 
 and piety, hoped for her.
 
 REJECTED HELP. 183 
 
 She still remained on her knees when the family 
 had retired ; and even when the Cardinal had finished 
 his thanksgiving, there she was kneeling with her 
 slender hands folded, and a veil dropped over her 
 face, like the most hidden of vestals. " God bless 
 you ! " he murmured, and laid his hand gently on her 
 head in passing. It took a load off his mind, and dis- 
 posed him to be pleased with everything. 
 
 It was rather a stately company that assembled 
 that evening in his honor. Among the chief guests, 
 a dignified grace and scrupulous ceremony learned 
 in courts, or inherited from a courtly ancestry, had 
 become a habit. If the man and the woman of the 
 period were present, and doubtless they were, they 
 were overawed by the chief personages, and laid aside 
 their flippancies and their superciliousness to be used 
 in another presence. In all, there was that repose 
 and harmony which result from perfectly defined po- 
 sitions and differences ; and the least was certain of 
 being courteously treated by the greatest. 
 
 "After all," whispered an abashed, but admiring 
 stranger to a friend, " such a ceremony is not only 
 noble, but it looks to me more simple, and truly 
 worthy of human beings. When I see how pro- 
 foundly and gravely they salute each other on being 
 introduced, it reminds me that for two persons to be- 
 come acquainted may have consequences more serious 
 than a waltz or flirtation." 
 
 A great number of clergymen were present, more 
 than one cardinal among them ; and there were arch- 
 bishops and bishops a full score, and half a hundred 
 Monsignori of lesser grades, both young and old. The 
 ladies, especially the married ones, were brilliant. 
 But the loveliest of all was the Marchesa di Mirandola, 
 the bride of a year, whose romantic story was still a 
 topic of conversation. In her robe of white Canton 
 crdpe, heavy with embroideries, and white velvet with
 
 184 BY THE TIBER. 
 
 pale blue linings, and turquoises and diamonds, she 
 looked a goddess. And her husband was worthy of 
 her; for there was not a handsomer man in Rome than 
 Don Filippo di Mirandola. 
 
 These two were particularly distinguished guests, 
 for Don Filippo was a nephew of Cardinal Meronda, 
 and he and Madama Camilla, as the Marchesa was 
 usually called, were to accompany him on his return 
 to Spain, 
 
 The apartment was a noble one, comprising a long 
 vista of magnificent chambers, with several smaller 
 rooms running backward in the wings ; and the little 
 modern furniture which had been introduced, chiefly 
 chairs, tables, and sofas, was modest in form and color, 
 however rich in material. The great cabinets of 
 carved or inlaid work were hundreds of -years old ; 
 the vases and pictures, each a work of art meriting 
 attentive study, were separated by panels or draperies, 
 that they might not interfere with each other. The 
 ceilings glowed with color, the old tapestries had the 
 mellowed tints of a misty summer's day, and the vel- 
 vet curtains had ripened like fruit, such lights slid 
 along green folds that looked like sunny moss, or 
 folds of red that took the light like rubies. Over 
 all was a soft illumination from hundreds of wax 
 candles. 
 
 There was but little of what is called entertain- 
 ment. The Countess Belvedere did not stir from her 
 place for nearly two hours. The supper was elegant ; 
 but people went to it when they would. Then an 
 improvisatrice who had lately arisen to notice gave a 
 few recitations. Otherwise, the guests entertained 
 themselves. 
 
 The elder prektes went away rather early ; and 
 Cardinal Meronda, having walked down the rooms 
 with one of them, came across a group of young 
 Monsignori on his return. They were standing a
 
 REJECTED HELP. 185 
 
 little apart, and talking with a mingled earnestness 
 and merriment which attracted his attention. 
 
 They immediately became silent as he drew near, 
 looked at him with smiling, expectant faces, and 
 bowed lowly. 
 
 " If I had the power," he said pleasantly, "I would 
 give you an obedience to continue your conversation 
 just as though I were not present. I should be sorry 
 to interrupt what seems to be a very interesting 
 conversation." 
 
 " A conversation could only become more pleasant 
 when your Eminence condescends to join it," one of 
 the young clergymen replied, and was confirmed by 
 an assenting murmur from his companions. 
 
 We were speaking of the new American Cardinal," 
 he continued, " and wondering who will be chosen to 
 carry the berrefta to him. Half of us are longing to 
 go, and the other half dreading to go." 
 
 " The longing I quite understand," the Cardinal re- 
 plied. " It would be pleasant to visit the Xew World 
 on an agreeable mission, and have all one's expenses 
 paid. But what can the dread mean ? " 
 
 "Oh, the ocean!" exclaimed another. "Fancy all 
 the uncertainties and perils of such a journey, the 
 being out of sight of laud for more than ten days, be- 
 sides the misery of not being in Italy." 
 
 " The latter is a misery which the greater part of 
 the world bear with remarkable equanimity," the 
 prelate remarked dryly. " As for the perils, lei, us try 
 to be men, since nature has denied us the privilege of 
 being women. The ocean is a good monitor. If I 
 had to recall a sceptical and hardened sinner who 
 never crossed the ocean, I would send him on a sea 
 voyage. I am sure it would give him a few solemn 
 thoughts." 
 
 " Eminenza," said one of the young men, with soft 
 insinuation. " there are some things in which I ani a
 
 186 BY THE TIBER. 
 
 very hardened sinner ; and I am sure that a journey 
 to New York would do me great good." 
 
 The Cardinal looked at the speaker, a tall, hand- 
 some young man of thirty, with the boyish lightness 
 of twenty ; and his smile died away. 
 
 " I have no power to send you to New York," he 
 said gently ; " but I can procure another ocean voy- 
 age for you. How would you like to go to Japan as 
 a missionary ? " 
 
 The young priest shrank back. 
 
 " It is settled, Don Cesare ! " cried one of the other 
 Monsignori. " When his Eminence makes a promise, 
 you may safely get the frying-pan ready." And they 
 all laughed. 
 
 " Pray, what may the frying-pan mean ? " asked 
 the Cardinal. 
 
 " His Eminence has but just come to Rome, or he 
 would not ask," said Don Cesare. " Perhaps you may 
 have heard of Mentana, whom we call the laureate ? " 
 
 " Certainly ! And I remember that he has written 
 some cantos said to be worthy of Tasso," the Cardi- 
 nal replied, with an air of serious respect for the per- 
 son mentioned. 
 
 "Well," Don Cesare continued, "he writes little 
 occasional poems on Vatican affairs, and when he reads 
 them the Pope usually makes him some gift. Last 
 month some one in Porto d' Auzio sent to the Vatican 
 a present of a basket of the finest fishes ever seen. 
 Mentana immediately set himself to write a poem on 
 the subject, sitting up half the night to finish it. The 
 next morning, as soon as he could possibly hope to 
 be received, he dressed and set out for the Vatican. 
 ' Get the frying-pan ready, Violante,' he called out to 
 his wife, as he hurried out of the house. He found 
 the Pope with some of the household about him, and 
 read his poem, a good one, too, they say, then 
 waited for the biggest fish in the basket to be given
 
 REJECTED HELP. 187 
 
 him. The Holy Father complimented him on his 
 poem, and presented him with his benediction. 
 The fishes had already been divided, and sent to the 
 different convents about." 
 
 The Cardinal smiled, but he looked thoughtfully 
 at the men before him. He knew what was going 
 on in the world. They, wrapped up in themselves 
 and their environs, and utterly ignorant of the mean- 
 ing of anything outside of Italy, seemed to fancy that 
 Rome was still imperial, and the world a suburb. 
 They saw people coming to them from all parts of 
 the earth, and did not know that, for more than half 
 of those who remained, Rome was but the dressing- 
 gown and slippers of a weary or indolent life. These 
 men laughed arid trifled, and heard nothing of the 
 nineteenth century roaring outside their gates. The 
 one salt wave that had broken in could not convince 
 them. They picked their way through the debris it 
 made, and as long as it did not tarnish the buckles on 
 their shoes, shrugged their shoulders, and believed 
 that it was nothing. 
 
 But this elder, deeper-hearted man knew, and 
 while they laughed, he trembled. Serious business 
 had brought him to Rome, and such a load of serious 
 thought lay upon his soul that it would have been 
 too much, but that sometimes he felt the arm and 
 shoulder of Christ slip under the burden, and lift its 
 weight with him, and lift him with it, and bear 
 him along in some miraculous hour of heavenly 
 comfort. 
 
 " I am sorry for Montana's disappointment," he 
 said. " But though he missed a fish he found a para- 
 ble which lasts longer and serves a greater number. 
 Let us profit by it, Monsignori. Let us not count too 
 much upon the loaves and fishes, and let us remember 
 that though our faith is founded upon a rock, our for- 
 tunes are not."
 
 188 BY THE TIBER. 
 
 He saluted them and passed on, but not to rejoin 
 the company. Stepping hastily aside, he went down 
 to a little curtained alcove on the lower floor, a tiny 
 room quite lined with purple curtains, in the midst of 
 which hung a small gilt lamp like a star in the twi- 
 light. There was no door, but only an arched opening. 
 Opposite that behind the curtain was a long, open 
 window looking out into a loggia a few steps above the 
 garden. From this loggia a broad stair led to an up- 
 per landing outside the windows of the state rooms. 
 Across the steps leading downward a gate was shut. 
 
 All the curtains in the alcove were down, but not a 
 breath of air stirred them. Cardinal Meronda took a 
 breviary from his pocket, seated himself under the 
 lamp, and began to read his office. 
 
 The Countess Belvedere, meantime, freed from her 
 duty of receiving compliments, was going about 
 among her guests, and allowing them to amuse her. 
 She was looking triumphant, and very beautiful, 
 though simply dressed. Her long black velvet dress, 
 swathing and disclosing her form as her custom was, 
 had no drapery except a lace scarf tied around just 
 below the hips. Rich yellow laces shaded her arms 
 and bosom. A wide necklace of rubies with a dia- 
 mond medallion and ear-rings were her only jewels, 
 and she wore only one spot of color. Just above 
 where the sombre folds of her train swept out on the 
 floor, was caught an immense bow of red satin, look- 
 ing as though a butterfly of fire had alighted on her 
 train for a moment, and would fly away again. 
 
 In a side-room a group of young people stood 
 around a German lady who held a book, arid seemed 
 to be telling each one something from it. 
 
 " What ! telling fortunes, Baroness ! " the hostess 
 said. " What if the Cardinal should catch you ? " 
 
 "Such an interesting book, my dear!" cried the 
 German. " I must borrow it from you. Here one
 
 REJECTED HELP. 189 
 
 finds all the influences under which one is born. 
 Here are the pagan divinities, the angels, the demons, 
 the animals, birds, and trees which govern each 
 month of the year. Only tell me in what month of 
 the year you were born, and I will tell you your for- 
 tune. October ? Ecco I you have Pallas ; your angel 
 is Barbiel; your demon, Baal; animal, the wolf ; bird, 
 the owl ; tree, the olive. How delightful ! And, dear 
 Lady Camilla, come and have your fortune told. Is 
 it July ? Listen. It is a lordly month, and has 
 Caesar for godfather. Your pagan is Jove ; your an- 
 gel, Berchiel; demon, Belzebub; animal, the stag; bird, 
 the eagle ; tree, the oak. It is the royal month." 
 
 The Countess escaped. Such things did not inter- 
 est her. Italians have great moral subtlety, but little 
 or no subtlety of the imagination. She could not un- 
 derstand this Northerner's delight in the mystic. For 
 imagination is a Northern flower. 
 
 Lifting a curtain, she stepped out to the loggia, and 
 looked into the garden. As she leaned there, a whis- 
 per came up to her, cutting the silence like a blade. 
 
 " Adelaide ! " 
 
 She turned quickly to the side where the steps 
 went down, and saw Vittorio leaning on the gate be- 
 low. That part of the garden had no lamps, but a 
 dim, rich light shone out through a purple curtain 
 over his beautiful face. 
 
 She glanced about her, then ran hastily down to 
 him. He stretched his hands, caught hers in a strong 
 grasp, and held her. 
 
 " My poor Vittorio! " she whispered. 
 
 " Why did you invite that Monteforte ? " he ex- 
 claimed. " I have been up there looking in, and I 
 was tempted to rush in among them all, and tell who 
 I am, and say that I am your lover, in the hope that 
 some one would kill me. But here, Adelaide, let me 
 die here ! " He bowed his head forward on her
 
 190 BY THE TIBER. 
 
 bosom. "Have yon the courage to plunge the dagger 
 in my neck ? It does not require much strength. 
 You have kissed me. Do me the only other grace 
 possible : kill me ! " 
 
 "Hush!" she whispered soothingly. "Some one 
 will hear. You are cruel." 
 
 " Nothing hurts you women of the world," he said, 
 raising his head. " You have ways of escaping. But 
 for me there is only one escape. Let my blood flow 
 where my life has died, at your feet. Kiss me once 
 again and strike. I turn my head. You will not ? 
 Then, I " 
 
 " You are mad ! " she whispered, arresting his arm. 
 " Let me go now, and I will come out later. When 
 they are gone, I will come." 
 
 As his hand relaxed its hold, she snatched her own 
 away, and fled up the stair. 
 
 He opened the gate, and seemed about to follow, 
 hesitated, then turned away. She was coining again 
 later. 
 
 A burst of brighter light shone over him, a hand 
 swept aside the purple curtain of the alcove window, 
 and a quick step followed him. 
 
 Vittorio turned. 
 
 " Go on ! " said the Cardinal commandingly. " I 
 must see you ! If you are not a coward, lead to the 
 light." 
 
 Vittorio, without a word, led to the grove of Un- 
 dine, leaned back against one of the large pine boles, 
 and, folding his arms, waited to be addressed. 
 
 The prelate recoiled a little at sight of his face and 
 dress. " Who are you ? " he exclaimed. 
 
 Vittorio smiled. " I am two men. I am the only 
 son of the late Duke of Monteforte, and I am Vittorio, 
 the gardener." 
 
 The Cardinal was confounded. He stared a mo- 
 ment, then his eyes fell. He began to walk slowly to
 
 REJECTED HELP. 191 
 
 and fro on the dewy turf. The delicate golden lights 
 glimmered on his pale face, on the rustling red silk of 
 his robe, on the little red skull-cap set on his thin gray 
 hair ; and when he caught his robe about him away 
 from the dew and his steps, the fairy radiance played 
 with his shoe-buckles, found out the red of his stock- 
 ings, and lighted another lamp in the diamond-rimmed 
 emerald on his right hand. 
 
 At length he paused before Vittorio. " Are you not 
 afraid of what they may do to you?" he asked gently. 
 
 " Not in the least ! " was the brief reply. 
 
 The Cardinal paused an instant to look at him, then 
 walked across the sward, and, coming back, paused 
 again. " Are you not afraid of what may happen to 
 her ? " he asked. 
 
 " What can they do to her ? " demanded Vittorio. 
 " They can only beat her and shut her up. I wish 
 they would ! " 
 
 " Yet you were pleading like a lover ten minutes 
 ago," the prelate said, looking at him steadily. " Do 
 you not, then, love her ? " 
 
 " Love her ! " repeated Vittorio passionately. " She 
 is too cruel, too false ! " 
 
 " You hate her, then ? " said the other, still re- 
 garding him fixedly. 
 
 Vittorio caught his breath, and held it a moment. 
 " Hate her ! " he said, with a slight faltering of the 
 voice. " I have felt her little hand steal into mine. 
 1 have felt her brow with all its braided hair nestle 
 into iny neck. To-night, even, she kissed me, and I 
 seem to feel a roseleaf yet on my forehead where her 
 lips were." 
 
 " What, then, do you wish for ? " pursued the Car- 
 dinal quietly. 
 
 Vittorio, in his turn, began to walk to and fro. 
 ask back my youth and my trust ! I ask a motive for 
 living ! I have nothing and I am nothing ! "
 
 192 BY THE TIBER. 
 
 The listener's eyes brightened. A solution of the 
 difficulty had occurred to him the moment he knew 
 who Vittorio was. 
 
 " You can be something if you will live for God ! " 
 he said, with earnest haste, taking a step nearer. 
 " Only one life can give harmony and peace to a man 
 in your position. It is not yet too late. I will place 
 you in a monastery where you can study. I am sure 
 that you have talent. And you shall have a career. 
 As you are now, you will always be discontented and 
 violent. Your life will be one of strife and of peril. 
 You will always be hoping for impossible tbings. 
 But leave all this, give yourself to God, and he will 
 give you peace. I will do all that I can for you." 
 
 Vittorio made a decided gesture of denial. " It is 
 too late. If Jesus Christ and his Apostles would 
 come by now, I would follow them to the seaside, the 
 desert, the cross. But a monastery, no." He pointed 
 at the silken robe and the ring. " I would not do it 
 to wear those ! " 
 
 A faint blush colored the prelate's cheeks, and 
 tears started to his eyes. " You are rash and unjust," 
 he said. " When you change your mind, come to me, 
 and I will be your friend. And, meantime, remem- 
 ber this, that a chaste and humble heart may beat 
 under a silken robe, and a proud and sinful one under 
 a blouse." 
 
 He turned as he spoke, and went back to the house 
 with a swift, light step, entered by the alcove win- 
 dow, and went up to the great drawing-rooms. 
 
 The last visitors had just taken leave, and the 
 Prince and his son-in-law were disappearing toward 
 the smoking-room. Only the Countess stood in the 
 farthest chamber, and looked down the long vista 
 where the servants were already extinguishing the 
 candles. One room after another was growing dim 
 before her, when she saw far away the form of Cardi-
 
 REJECTED HELP. 193 
 
 nal Merouda coming up toward the still brilliant 
 chamber where she stood. 
 
 " I see that you are not yet sleepy," he said pleas- 
 antly, as she went to meet him. " And I am glad of 
 it, for I want to say a few words to you. Will you 
 do me the favor to come to the chapel a moment ? " 
 
 She gave him a startled glance, and the blood redly 
 bathed her face and neck as she stammered an as- 
 sent. 
 
 He turned, called her to his side with a gesture, 
 and walked past the servants with her, giving them a 
 smiling glance as they bowed before him, and raising 
 his hand to bless one who knelt. 
 
 "I have promised Prince Borghese to go out to see 
 them at Frascati to-morrow," he said, loudly enough to 
 be heard by all, " and I shall probably be off while 
 you are still sleeping in the morning." 
 
 " Oh, I shall certainly see you before you go ! " she 
 exclaimed anxiously. 
 
 " I shall not expect to see you." They were now 
 in the corridors, and his words fell with a chill pre- 
 cision. Eeaching the chapel, he entered, and left her 
 to follow as she might. It was ominous. 
 
 This chapel, built by a cardinal belonging to the 
 family which had formerly owned the villa, was fur- 
 nished in singularly pure taste. It was like the inside 
 of a golden casket. The walls were lined with gold- 
 colored satin damask, laid plain, without an ornament 
 or a picture. Only over the altar was a St. Joseph. 
 A sanctuary lamp hung high, and threw a soft light 
 through the sacred stillness. Under the lamp was a 
 prie-dieu, and beside it a chair. 
 
 Both bent their knees before the altar ; then the 
 Cardinal seated himself, and the Countess knelt on 
 the prie-dieu beside, and a very little behind, him. 
 Her heart was beating thickly. 
 
 " I was reading my office in the lower alcove cham- 
 13
 
 194 BY THE TIBER. 
 
 her when you met that unfortunate young man in the 
 loggia" he said abruptly. " I have been talking with 
 him. What have you to say ? " 
 
 She had nothing to say. Terrified and over- 
 whelmed, she dropped her face into her hands, and 
 while he waited, she sobbed. 
 
 " I shall go away to-morrow morning," he resumed. 
 "The question is, whether I shall go in silence, or talk 
 first with your father. Have you nothing to say?" 
 
 She broke out into entreaties, protestations, and 
 excuses. She hated her husband, she had pitied Vit- 
 torio and and she was sorry. She would 
 never 
 
 " You have promised to see him again to-night," 
 he interrupted. " I forbid you ! " 
 
 " Oh, I will obey you in anything ! " she began ; 
 but again he interrupted her, speaking with a sort of 
 passion. 
 
 " What can I say to you, Adela ! Only this morn- 
 ing you invited the Lord to enter your heart. You 
 forced him to come, and he could not refuse without 
 performing a miracle. He has placed himself help- 
 less in our hands in the Eucharist as helpless as he 
 was when an infant on earth more helpless, since 
 he has no longer a Mary and Joseph to protect him. 
 The helplessness of the Infant Jesus was pitiful ; 
 the helplessness of our Lord in the Divine Sacrament 
 is terrible! It is an abandonment of love so utter 
 that only damnation is a fit punishment for one who 
 despises and insults it. You believe that his passion 
 ended long ago ? Not so. He is still bound to our 
 stony hearts and scourged by our passions. Every 
 day Judas kisses him anew, and Peter denies him, 
 and the Apostles stand afar off while he is crucified. 
 Every day men and women who call themselves 
 Christians, while their hearts are full of worse than 
 pagan malice, come to the altar and mock him, ' Hail,
 
 REJECTED HELP. 195 
 
 King of the Jews!' He was in your heart this morn- 
 ing. Was he as mute there as he was long ago be- 
 fore his accusers, or did lie speak ? If he was mute, 
 how dare I speak ? If he spoke in vain, what can I 
 say ? " 
 
 He ceased, and she only wept. 
 
 " Do you remember your first Communion, Adela ?" 
 he went on more softly. " I went to the convent 
 where you were prepared for it, and said the Mass 
 for you. You were a child then. Oh, you must 
 have been innocent ! Can you not recollect that you 
 were happy ? And were you happy this morning ? Are 
 you so hardened that you could be indifferent ? The 
 Magdalen came weeping before the crowd, and caring 
 nothing for them. She washed his feet with her tears, 
 while they reviled her. The dust on his feet were 
 her jewels. But she was loving. And you you 
 are false and cruel. Nothing will recall you till you 
 are crushed by some great misfortune. If the guilt of 
 blood is not on you now, it will be. You played with 
 fire when you cast your eyes on this Vittorio. A man 
 of the world has some prudence ; but this one has 
 nothing to lose, and he knows no bounds. Only your 
 perfect repentance will save you from him, and him 
 from you." 
 
 Still those weak, hysterical sobs. He could not 
 bear them ; for he knew that they only meant grief at 
 having been found out. He rose abruptly. 
 
 " I leave you to God," he said. " Never let me see 
 your face again till it is the face of a true penitent. 
 And if ever you should come to me so, Adela, I will 
 receive you with a love and joy that no words can 
 express ; and the sorrowing woman will be dearer 
 and nobler in my eyes than ever was the innocent 
 child." 
 
 His voice trembled slightly. He turned hastily 
 away, and left her before the altar.
 
 196 BY THE TIBER. 
 
 " That Vittorio ! " she muttered when the door had 
 closed, and there was a shudder of passion in her 
 voice. " I could tear his heart out ! " 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 THE BEGINNING OF THE END. 
 
 VALERIA'S winter was scarcely a pleasant one, 
 though she rejoiced in having a house of her 
 own. There are troubles against which we cannot 
 bar our doors. 
 
 Monsignor Fenelon had been sent by the Pope on a 
 mission which would detain him out of Rome several 
 years, and she was sorry to lose him. Towards spring 
 Monsignor Nestore died. 
 
 The occasional conversation of these two men had 
 been a pleasure to her, and their advice and counte- 
 nance invaluable. Besides, in a society which has, 
 perhaps, a lower tone than any other in the world, it 
 was a privilege to know two persons whose minds 
 dwelt habitually in the piano nobile of existence. 
 
 She had still another cause of disturbance, and one 
 that involved a mystery which for some time she was 
 not able to fathom. 
 
 In one of those days of early spring Miss Pendleton 
 came to see her, and was received with an affectionate 
 welcome. She had seen this lady several times since 
 their first meeting in Casa Passarina, and the slight 
 unfavorable impression made on her at that time had 
 worn off. It could not resist the invariable sweetness 
 and kindly interest which the lady had displayed to- 
 ward her. With the most of us a good person means 
 one who is good to us.
 
 THE BEGINNING OF THE END. 197 
 
 The object of Miss Pendleton's visit was to pur- 
 suade Valeria to give up her house, and go to live in 
 a convent which her visitor would recommend. But 
 this object was revealed only after a long preparatory 
 conversation. 
 
 To Valeria, as to others, Miss Pendleton was a nun 
 in all but name, and therefore a privileged person. A 
 Catholic never looks upon a religious as a stranger. 
 The first impulse is, not only to pay a particular re- 
 spect to those who have been in an especial man- 
 ner devoted to God, but to regard them with an 
 affectionate confidence. They may enter where others 
 may riot ; they may ask questions which are not per- 
 mitted to an ordinary friend ; and confidences are 
 spontaneously made to them on a short acquaintance 
 which would scarcely be made to the tried friend of 
 many years. 
 
 Nothing is more sweet and nothing should be more 
 sacred than such a confidence, both to those who give 
 and to those who receive it. One who has renounced 
 those family ties which we fancy will bring happi- 
 ness, though they as often bring misery, and that 
 possible freedom of will which might never have had 
 its way, is consoled when he sees a broader and more 
 devoted family gather about him, and affection and 
 confidence spring up wherever he treads. The priv- 
 ileges of people in religion are, in fact, greater than 
 their renunciations; but that does not lessen the 
 merit of the sacrifice ; for in thus devoting them- 
 selves, they renounce not only what they have and 
 might be sure of, but that which their highest hopes 
 and imaginations tell them the future might have 
 brought them. And on the other hand, in our esti- 
 mate of religious, we recognize not only their sacred 
 profession; we regard with a reverent enthusiasm 
 that element of Christian heroism which we do not 
 doubt of finding in their characters. We have ever
 
 198 BY THE TIBER. 
 
 before our imagination that sublime hour in which, 
 nailing their quivering souls to the cross in the sight 
 of all, they swore to die to the world, and live thence- 
 forth only in God. 
 
 The soul which returns to worldly goods and 
 worldly ways after having been shut into the sepul- 
 chre of Christ by such a vow is a moral putrefaction 
 and a minister of death. 
 
 Valeria had the most perfect confidence in those 
 who have thus separated themselves from the \vorld. 
 She replied, therefore, simply and fully to the many 
 questions which Miss Pendleton asked about her most 
 private affairs, wondering a little sometimes, but never 
 doubting that they were justified by the most sincere 
 and noble friendship, and the intention of preserving 
 the most inviolable secrecy. Viewed in any other 
 light, the lady's inquisition would have been the 
 height of impudence. 
 
 But when the proposal was made for her to leave 
 her house, she protested. 
 
 "Why! I have only just taken it," she exclaimed 
 in astonishment. " And I have always wanted and 
 needed a house of my own. Why should I change ? " 
 
 Miss Pendleton calmly persisted, ignoring argu- 
 ments and opposition ; and she gave no reason for her 
 advice, except that a house must be expensive. But 
 when Valeria showed her account of expenses, and 
 proved that she could nowhere else have what she 
 needed for less, her visitor betrayed clearly that this 
 had been an excuse, and not a motive. Neither did 
 her plea that she might not be able to pursue her 
 writing in a convent have any effect. Her visitor, 
 who was uneducated and unimaginative, believed that 
 where one could knit a stocking one could write a 
 book. She was one of the innumerable company 
 described by Liszt, who " aspire to give laws in prov- 
 inces to which nature has denied them, entrance."
 
 THE BEGINNING OF THE END. 199 
 
 Moreover, it did not seem to matter whether Valeria 
 could write or not. 
 
 " If you will do what we wish," Miss Pendleton 
 said, " we will give you any necessary help, if you 
 should ever have need." 
 
 The matter had evidently been arranged already; 
 but with whom ? and for what reason ? 
 
 The proposal was at once cruel and tempting. That 
 indefinite promise of friendly interest, oversight, and 
 aid was particularly pleasant to one who found the 
 world too rough to be willingly faced alone. But on 
 the other hand, her life had already suffered too much 
 from the misconceptions and impositions of others for 
 her to consent to place herself now unreservedly in 
 the hands of unknown persons that they might do 
 what they would with her. If any reason worthy of a 
 reasonable person had been offered, or any hint of 
 danger given, she would have considered the question, 
 and possibly have yielded ; but the consent required 
 of her was a blind one, and for that Miss Pendleton 
 and her unknown company had most certainly come 
 to the wrong person. 
 
 When, astonished, distressed, and confused, Valeria 
 begged for time to think over the proposal, her vis- 
 it or passed froman ever- disproved, yet ever- renewed 
 argument to pleading. She had taken this matter 
 before God, she said, and asked for light upon it, and 
 she believed that her advice was such as should be 
 followed. 
 
 Irritated by a persistence which seemed invincible, 
 Valeria could not but think that she was able to pray 
 about her own affairs, and that if Miss Pendleton had 
 been made the medium of an illumination regarding 
 them, she had failed to reflect any light to the person 
 most interested. 
 
 Utterly exhausted at length with the combat, she 
 proposed to write to Monsignor Fenelon on the sub-
 
 200 BY THE TIBER. 
 
 ject, and abide by his decision, and with this, her vis- 
 itor was forced to be content. 
 
 The interview lasted more than two hours. 
 
 As soon as Miss Pendleton was gone, Valeria 
 wrote the promised letter, and sent her servant out 
 with it. 
 
 It was already past noon, and she sat down by the 
 garden window to quiet her disturbed mind ; and, sit- 
 ting there, she reviewed her mode of life, and tried to 
 discover if any fault could be found in it. 
 
 Every morning she went to Mass, and thus had a 
 short walk. Besides that, she seldom went out, ex- 
 cept when obliged to do so. The morning was spent 
 in study or writing ; in the afternoon she usually saw 
 one or two visitors. At Ave Maria her doors were 
 closed for the night. " Could any life be more harm- 
 less or more guarded ? " she asked herself. 
 
 That part of the garden directly before her eyes was 
 completely hidden from the palace by groves of orange- 
 trees, oleanders, and camellias. Under a clump of 
 oleanders, at the farther side, stood two persons, the 
 sight of whom made Valeria start to her feet. Some 
 rose-bushes nearer by hid half their figures ; but there 
 stood Vittorio and the Countess Belvedere, she leaning 
 with her clasped hands on his shoulder, talking rapidly 
 and coaxingly, and caressing him now and then ; lie, 
 with his arm around her, gazing searchingly into her 
 face. It was evidently no new thing. The gardener 
 showed no sign of surprise, and no flutter of pleasure 
 or elation. He merely gazed with those searching 
 eyes that were almost stern. He did riot move ; but 
 the lady kept glancing behind her toward the palace, 
 as if afraid that some one might discover her. 
 
 As Valeria gazed, fixed and breathless, the Countess 
 glanced at the casuccia, perceived that they were in 
 sight of its window, without seeing any one in it, and 
 hastily drew Vittorio behind the trees at their side.
 
 THE BEGINNING OF THE END. 201 
 
 A moment later she was visible gliding rapidly toward 
 the palace, slipping from tree to tree, and avoiding the 
 windows as she made her way to the rose-garden. 
 
 Valeria took breath, and sat down. She felt a little 
 faint. She sat thinking, looking backward through 
 the months she had passed in that house. She recol- 
 lected the delightful evenings that she had spent in 
 the dark at that window, when often she had seen a 
 shadow slip from tree to tree, as the Countess Belve- 
 dere had done just now. She had thought nothing 
 of it. She recollected all that Miss Crorno had told 
 her of this woman, stories that at the time had made 
 not the least impression upon her, but which now had 
 a new meaning. 
 
 It is a terrible moment when first we know that there 
 is crime in the world. We have heard of it all our 
 lives ; but it was always afar off. Possibly some one 
 was pointed out to us as the sinner; but we could not 
 realize it. Surely no one near enough to touch us 
 was guilty of crime. We carry our ignorance as a 
 lamp that makes a circle of light all about us wherever 
 we go. The shadows are ever beyond. Then sudden- 
 ly we find hanging close by us the little string which, 
 if pulled, will bring the thunderbolt down. 
 
 Valeria sat thinking. " How that woman must want 
 me to go away from here ! " she said at last ; then 
 started at a sudden thought. " Pshaw ! what non- 
 sense ! " she added. " But, certainly, the Countess 
 Belvedere cannot like to have me here." 
 
 She rang the bell, and sent Marta to ask Miss Cro- 
 mo if she was too busy to receive her a little while. 
 
 The girl returned saying that Miss Cromo would be 
 glad to see her ; and Valeria went down. 
 
 " I have come to play Saul to your David," she said. 
 " I am out of spirits. Are you in a tuneful mood?" 
 
 "I suppose Miss Pendleton has been talking re- 
 ligion to you," Miss Cromo said. " I happened to be
 
 202 BY THE TIBER. 
 
 putting down the curtains this forenoon when she 
 went away, looking the very essence of a little sancti- 
 monious bore. What has she been catechising you 
 about ? " 
 
 "She has made me hate the interrogative mood," 
 Valeria replied. " It would bore us both to repeat 
 her conversation ; though, after all, she is very good 
 and kind. She made me tired, that is all. Don't you 
 dislike to hear a person say the same thing twice ? 
 Only nightingales and lovers should repeat themselves. 
 Tautology is a demon. What were those old stories 
 about demons that were first a lion, then a tiger, then 
 a serpent, and so on, fighting somebody under all of 
 those forms ? How confusing it must have been ! " 
 
 " She is very prying and meddlesome," Miss Cromo 
 replied with decision. " They say that she questions 
 people's servant-girls about their family affairs. Miss 
 Campbell you know her, she is one of your nere 
 told me that Miss Pendleton wanted her to join some 
 pious association or other that they have over there, 
 and her confessor told her not to. He said that it was a 
 gossiping assembly, and that they wanted to know 
 and direct everybody's affairs. And that, my dear, 
 was an Italian priest. If you don't believe me, you 
 can ask Miss Campbell." 
 
 " I don't doubt it," Valeria said. Then after a while 
 she added, " I don't wonder that the Turks call us 
 ' dogs of Christians.' I don't suppose there ever was a 
 more insincere set of people on earth than professed 
 Christians. We have n't a virtue in which the pagans 
 have not excelled us. Compromising, we lose all 
 The motto of Christianity should be in estrcmo ratio. 
 There is no middle course." 
 
 " They are all alike," Miss Cromo declared. " It is 
 all a sham." 
 
 " Oh, no ! " Valeria replied. " I know so many good 
 people. But I have always said that the worst enemies
 
 THE BEGINNING OF THE END. 203 
 
 of the church are within the church, and that much of 
 the hatred and distrust which outsiders feel is perfectly 
 excusable. There is no country nor sect which would 
 not honor a true Christian. We need the apostolical 
 virtues back again, and there is nothing else which 
 will save society. We need the glorious old courage, 
 and imprudence, and literal obedience to God. We 
 need adversity. Christianity is one of those plants 
 that is fragrant only when it is crushed. By the 
 way," she added suddenly, " have you ever been ac- 
 quainted with the Countess Belvedere ? " 
 
 Miss Cromo was in an uncommonly amiable and 
 truthful mood. " I was introduced to her once at a 
 friend's house, and talked with her for half an hour ; 
 and the next day, meeting her, I bowed. She stared 
 at me, and passed me by." 
 
 " I wonder you would bow to such a woman as you 
 say she is," Valeria remarked. 
 
 " My dear, she is the ' very best of bad company ! ' " 
 
 " Nevertheless, if I were introduced to her I would 
 not salute her," Valeria declared. " If she should come 
 to my door, I would n't allow her to come in." 
 
 " Oh, I know that you pretend to despise society ! " 
 Miss Cromo said. " But I am not so sublime." 
 
 " You mistake," was the quick reply. " Although 
 I agree with Voltaire, that ' Good society is a scat- 
 tered republic, of which we encounter a member now 
 and then,' still I was never so silly as to pretend to 
 despise that which calls itself good society. It is the 
 guardian of the elegances of life if not of its loftier 
 verities, of its proprieties if not of its honesties. 
 Then it makes a fair setting to those human jewels 
 whose fortune it is to seem, as well as to be, great. 
 That it does not always recognize or respect rough 
 diamonds is nothing against it, any more than it is 
 its fault if it sometimes frames pudding-stone. Cut 
 you must be in one way or the other. Why, even
 
 204 BY THE TIBER. 
 
 the Koh-i-noor was not chic till it was cut. The chief 
 fault of some people in society is the believing that it 
 is everybody's Grand Mogul, just as it is their own. 
 And another fault is that it will pretend to be good, 
 instead of being content to be only pretty." 
 
 " It was never immorality which excluded a person 
 from society; it was bad style," said Miss Croino, who 
 pretended to know all about the matter. 
 
 " But don't you think it would be better not to pre- 
 tend to be so very moral ? " 
 
 "It would be bad style not to pretend to be moral," 
 was the reply. " If you don't want to hear any lies, 
 you must n't ask any questions. Society isn't a father 
 confessor. All it asks is, ' Are your boots blacked ? ' 
 Vulgarity can come in, and vice can come in, and the 
 devil is welcome ; but they must black their boots. 
 It is de riyueur." 
 
 They talked of other things, and presently Valeria 
 returned to her apartment. 
 
 Evening came, and she knew not what to do. The 
 serpent had appeared in her paradise, and she could 
 take no pleasure in looking out there. Yet she went 
 into her studio, and seated herself back from the 
 window. It was possible to see the sky, at least. 
 
 Some one, Vittorio probably, was locking the gate 
 under her window, and she heard the voice of the 
 Countess Belvedere's maid talking with him. 
 
 " The Countess has gone to the opera," she said. 
 
 Ah ! then the garden was clear. Valeria waited 
 till they had gone away, then took her seat near the 
 window. Disturbed and wakeful as she felt, that 
 quiet hour was more than ever necessary to her. 
 
 The window looked toward the north, with glimpses 
 of east and west, if one leaned out. There was no 
 moon, and the stars almost danced with brightness. 
 There was the North Star with its ever-circling com- 
 panions. Dim, and far, yet steadfast, it burned like
 
 THE BEGINNING OF THE END. 205 
 
 a hope of heaven seen through the mists of earth. 
 How many a time she had seen those northern stars 
 shining over feathery snow-drifts or glittering snow- 
 crust, with the cold, pure blood of the Northern Lights 
 sweeping over them in delicate fleeting blushes ! 
 
 Now there were roses and ripening oranges down 
 in the garden dusk under their slowly circling lamps. 
 
 She leaned out, and saw the gardener's window 
 alight and open, a wide arched window framed in 
 jasmine. In the midst of the light sat Vittorio, read- 
 ing, his elbows on the table, and his hands buried in 
 his hair at either side. Behind him in the yellow 
 wall was a little blue niche with a white Madonna 
 in it. The lamp was a long brass one with movable 
 burner, and all three of the wicks were lighted. 
 
 " Three lights are an evil sign, Vittorio," said Vale- 
 ria ; " and you are in an evil way, poor boy ! " 
 
 He looked like an old picture on a gold ground ; the 
 yellow walls and light glowed about him. 
 
 She observed after a while that he did not stir, nor 
 turn a leaf of his book, and that his hands were 
 pressed behind his ears, not over them. He seemed 
 to be listening intensely. 
 
 There was a slight sound under her window, and 
 the gate was softly opened. Valeria drew noiselessly 
 back. There was a faint, rustling step ; then a shadow 
 crept up the stair, and away toward the palace. The 
 gate was softly closed again. 
 
 Leaning out, she saw Vittorio stirring uneasily. 
 He turned the leaves of the book, pushed his hair 
 back, and at last rose, and, taking a lanthorn, came 
 out into the garden, and walked about. He came 
 and tried the gate. It was locked. All was silent. 
 
 Valeria drew back terrified. It was evident that 
 he was watching for or suspecting some one who 
 had come in by the gate. 
 
 He returned to his house and shut himself in.
 
 206 BY THE TIBER. 
 
 Valeria went to her bedroom and locked the door, 
 bidding Marta close the studio window. " And take 
 a light with you," she said. 
 
 " If any one should look, they will see that I am 
 not there," she thought. 
 
 In a few days Valeria received an answer to her 
 letter to Monsignor Fenelon. He saw no reason why 
 she should not remain where she was. 
 
 She gave his letter to Miss Pendleton. 
 
 " Very well," the lady said, and made no further 
 opposition. " But if you had gone we should have 
 been ready to do anything for you." 
 
 It was her only intimation of displeasure, and her 
 only intimation of diminished friendliness. 
 
 It was April now, that heavenly season of Rome 
 when the shade is yet cool, though the sun is hot; the 
 season of wild-flowers, of drives to the Villas Bor- 
 ghese and Painfili-Doria, and of loiterings in the 
 sunny spaces, or sun-flecked dusky avenues of Villa 
 Medici. Valeria began to feel seriously the restraint 
 which is placed upon the movements of unattended 
 ladies ; for, having but few acquaintances, she was 
 often obliged to go out alone. It struck her that it was 
 becoming uncommonly disagreeable for her to do so. 
 
 She mentioned the subject to Miss Cromo. 
 
 " We cannot help ourselves," was the reply. " I 
 have several times been grossly insulted in the streets 
 here ; but I always pretend to know nothing about 
 it. Only last week the Countess Mariui was followed 
 the whole length of the Corso, in broad daylight, and 
 treated in such a manner that the attention of every- 
 body was called to her. And she had another lady 
 with her." 
 
 " But," Valeria urged, " these are such men as do 
 not notice ladies. They look like well-dressed work- 
 ingmen. I should guess them to be low fellows who 
 had just drawn a prize in the lottery."
 
 THE BEGINNING OF THE END. 207 
 
 " There is no help for it," Miss Cromo declared. 
 
 Valeria sat a moment in troubled silence. " Is 
 there anything odd in my dress ? " she asked then, 
 rising to turn herself about before the mirror. " Is 
 there anything that would be likely to attract atten- 
 tion ? " 
 
 " What should there be, my dear ? " Miss Cromo 
 exclaimed. " Your dress and your behavior are both 
 perfectly modest. You are merely suffering an an- 
 noyance which none but ugly old women can escape. 
 It isn't worth crying about." 
 
 Valeria was not satisfied, but she said no more. It 
 was impossible to put the subject out of her mind ; 
 for, without suspecting the meaning of it, she could 
 not rid herself of the impression that there was a hid- 
 den meaning. These annoyances were all about her 
 own house, and seemed to be designed as annoyances 
 by persons who knew that they would displease her. 
 
 She set herself resolutely to solve the mystery ; nor 
 was it difficult to unravel when once the clue was found. 
 For, when she ceased to go out, people came to her 
 door. Scarcely a day passed but Marta came to her 
 with some strange story. 
 
 " They ask for the queerest names," the girl said, 
 " and say the strangest things. I am sure they are 
 doing it to be impudent." 
 
 Two or three times Valeria sent the girl out to fol- 
 low those who had been at her door, and she always 
 traced them to the same point. She understood at 
 last. The Countess Belvedere was trying to drive her 
 out of the casuccia. 
 
 It was a relief to know the truth, though it plunged 
 her into a new sort of perplexity. For while she saw 
 that peace might be purchased by leaving the house, 
 she found herself unable to leave it. She had a lease 
 for several years, and the loss would be a serious one 
 pecuniarily. Besides, she could not, in any case, go
 
 208 BY THE TIBER. 
 
 out of town that summer. Miss Pendleton's proposal 
 crossed her mind, and tempted her a moment; but was 
 soon rejected. She must not commit herself to a mode 
 of life which might have still greater discomforts, and 
 render her work of writing more difficult, if not im- 
 possible. 
 
 For a moment she thought of complaining to the 
 Questore, or asking the protection of the American 
 Consul. But she was unwilling to try either remedy. 
 It would hardly be possible to make a complaint 
 without explaining the situation fully, and she was 
 resolved not to accuse any principal offender, however 
 she might point out the instruments. She would say 
 nothing but that which she had herself seen, and 
 scarcely all of that, indeed. 
 
 At length an incident occurred which made her 
 decide to take advice. Coming in one evening from 
 a drive, she was met by Marta outside the door. 
 
 "That same man, the Signer Conti," the girl whis- 
 pered, pointing over her shoulder toward the ante- 
 room. " He has been waiting half an hour." 
 
 Valeria passed the dim anteroom, where a man 
 rose at her approach, and, ordering the girl to bring a 
 lamp and then show her visitor in, entered the sala. 
 She knew what " that same man " meant. This man 
 had already been at the house twice within a few 
 days, asking if she were in, and seeming very curious 
 to know in what room of the house she might be, and 
 going abruptly away when told that he might enter. 
 Both times she had sent Marta to follow him. 
 
 She considered rapidly while waiting. There was 
 a police-station near. Should she send Marta for the 
 guard, making some excuse for sending her out ? But 
 that would leave her alone in the house with this 
 man. Could she herself slip out on some pretext, 
 and call a policeman ? He would be sure to suspect 
 her purpose, and escape.
 
 THE BEGINNING OF THE END. 209 
 
 He was shown in. On the former occasion he had 
 been gorgeously dressed, and full of a coarse jollity. 
 Now he looked rather shabby, and had an air of ex- 
 aggerated humility. He presented a subscription- 
 paper which had not a name written on it. He was 
 a poor man, he said, and wished to take his family 
 back to Turin, from whence he had come to Rome, 
 hoping to find employment. Would she kindly give 
 him a little toward paying his journey ? 
 
 She reflected while he was speaking that it would 
 be better to pretend to believe him, and let him go. 
 It was not impossible that this visit might be in- 
 tended as a cover to the two others, which had been 
 too flagrant for the prudence which these people 
 usually showed. 
 
 " I can give but little," she said, rejecting the paper 
 he offered. 
 
 " If it were only a soldo ! " he whined. " I have five 
 children, and we have not eaten bread for twenty-four 
 hours." 
 
 "You have, then, been making yourself sick on roast 
 turkey !" she thought, glancing over his full-fed form 
 and face. 
 
 She gave him a few soldi, and he went away 
 breathing benedictions upon her. 
 
 Valeria had already made a serious mistake in not 
 putting these people into the hands of the. Questura. 
 She now committed a still greater mistake. She 
 went down to ask Miss Cromo's advice. 
 
 " I am in great trouble about something," she said; 
 "and I want to tell you what I can tell of it, so that 
 you may advise me. I cannot tell all But first 
 promise me solemnly that you will never mention it 
 to any one. I would not have it come out for the 
 world." 
 
 Miss Cromo made the most profuse and solemn 
 promises. She would keep the matter a perfect 
 14
 
 210 BY THE TIBER. 
 
 secret. " It shall be to me as sacred as a confession ! " 
 she declared. 
 
 It did not occur to Valeria at the moment that for 
 a secret to be as sacred as a confession to Miss Cronio 
 did not imply a very high degree of sacredness. She 
 took the meaning as she would herself have con- 
 ceived it. 
 
 Her story was told in a few words, all names and 
 places being suppressed. The only fact she commu- 
 nicated was that certain persons whose doings she had 
 it in her power to know were trying to drive her away 
 from the neighborhood. 
 
 " It was those people I have already mentioned to 
 you," she said. " I thought that it meant something. 
 I do not know what to do. I am tied hand and foot. 
 I cannot go to another house, and I cannot go into the 
 country. And of course I have no way of making 
 such people understand that I really do not wish to 
 meddle with them, and should have known nothing 
 if they had not forced me to examine." 
 
 " Pretend that you do not know," Miss Cromo said. 
 " Such people can torment your life out. But how in 
 the world have you learned this ? " 
 
 " Please don't ask me to say any more," Valeria re- 
 plied. " I would rather not. I don't like to speak of 
 it at all" 
 
 " Of course I don't wish to know any more than 
 you choose to tell me," Miss Cromo said, rather 
 sharply, and began to speak of other things. But 
 her visitor soon found that the discourse which fol- 
 lowed was a clever hook and line for further revela- 
 tions. 
 
 There is a way of catching a secret by telling a 
 secret ; and it is a very good way, since one confi- 
 dence naturally draws another. It opens the heart, 
 being an appeal to the generosity. Moreover, the per- 
 son so speaking, having given an hostage, is supposed
 
 THE BEGINNING OF THE END. 211 
 
 to be safe. Emulation is excited, too. Who likes to 
 be ou'tdone in story-telling ? 
 
 Miss Cromo tried this expedient. She disclosed 
 the most piquant secrets regarding her friends, and 
 showed in the darkest colors several persons supposed 
 to be respectable. But the effect was not what she 
 had hoped for. It suggested to her listener's mind 
 that she had just foolishly added a new story to the 
 lady's repertory of scandal, without herself having 
 received any benefit ; and, moreover, that the details 
 which she had not given, and did not mean to give, 
 would, very likely, be added by her friend's imagi- 
 nation. 
 
 Finding her first step ineffectual, Miss Cromo went 
 still further. She included some of her own nearest 
 relatives in the holocaust, and did not leave even her 
 own dead father's name unblackened. 
 
 " Oh, why have I told this story to a woman who 
 holds nothing sacred ? " Valeria said to herself in 
 terror. 
 
 She evaded the conversation, and rose to go. "And 
 pray, don't forget your promise not to mention what I 
 have told you," she said. " It would do no good to 
 either of us." 
 
 " Of course I shall never mention it," was the reply. 
 " But then," Miss Cromo added irritably, " you have 
 really not told me anything definite." 
 
 Another complication had already shown itself in 
 Valeria's position ; for, in searching out the meaning 
 of the persecution she suffered, she had learned that 
 others were employed in the same search. She had, 
 in fact, come across one or two men posted by Count 
 Belvedere to watch the Villa. This put her between 
 two fires ; for while Bruno and his company knew 
 that nothing could save them from exposure if Va- 
 leria should choose to communicate with the Count, 
 the Count himself might suspect that she was ill com-
 
 212 BY THE TIBER. 
 
 munication with his wife. That she would not have 
 taken either side in an affair which, on the one hand, 
 would have given her safety and friends, and, on the 
 other, would have punished the persons who had an- 
 noyed her, she could not hope would even be imagined 
 by persons whose lives, barren of every noble pleasure 
 or duty, were passed in an apparent lassitude and 
 monotony which barely covered the wildest games of 
 intrigue. 
 
 A woman like Miss Cromo would have known per- 
 fectly how to meet the difficulty. Unable to change 
 her residence, she would have complained loudly of 
 these annoyances, and, while as loudly proclaiming her 
 ignorance of the meaning of them, would have called 
 on the authorities for protection. Valeria, whose life 
 had never made her familiar with any such affairs, 
 committed the fatal mistake of confiding in women, 
 and of shrinking from the possible publicity of an 
 official interference. It did not occur to her that 
 there is no publicity so great as that to be feared from 
 the tongues of a few malicious and tattling women. 
 
 Looking out into the street the day after her inter- 
 view with Miss Cromo, she was startled to perceive a 
 person whom she supposed to be young Mr. Burton, 
 the portrait-painter, who was unmistakably engaged 
 in watching the Villa. He walked about with pre- 
 tended carelessness, smoking a cigar, and observing 
 everything. Bruno came out of the garden-gate, 
 passed him by without seeming to be aware of him, 
 and returned by way of the palace. Tito went out 
 through the palace, came back by Via Claudia, passed 
 the new sentinel with the same affectation of un- 
 consciousness, and returned by the gate. But both 
 had taken the opportunity to fix his image on their 
 minds. 
 
 Valeria hurried down to Miss Cromo, and re- 
 proached her with her betrayal
 
 THE BEGINNING OF THE END. 213 
 
 " I told him to walk about this neighborhood a 
 little, and see what wonderful thing was going on," 
 Miss Crorno said boldly. " But I do not see how he 
 could have come so early. And you say that he was 
 smoking. Burton never smokes in the street ; so it 
 cannot be he." 
 
 " How could you do such a thing when you prom- 
 ised secrecy ! " Valeria exclaimed. " You will get 
 both yourself and me into trouble. And I must tell 
 you now that it is a lady of rank whom you have put 
 a spy upon." 
 
 Miss Cromo looked startled. She rang the bell for 
 her servant, and, seating herself, wrote a hasty note, 
 and sent her out with it. " Take this to Burton im- 
 mediately," she said. " But I am sure that it was not 
 Burton," she repeated to Valeria. 
 
 " How could you do such a thing ! " was all Vale- 
 ria's answer. 
 
 "Pretend that you do not know!" Miss Cromo 
 said impressively. " If you say a word of this, they 
 will say that you are insane, and shut you up in an 
 asylum." 
 
 It was not Burton, as it turned out; but a new 
 agent of the Count Belvedere. 
 
 A few days afterward Valeria dismissed her ser- 
 vant Marta, having good reason to do so. She made 
 no explanations, however, merely telling the girl that 
 she no longer needed her services. 
 
 '^You have done me a harm in sending me away," 
 the girl said in going out the door, " and I will be re- 
 venged. I know how to." 
 
 It was not a pleasant threat ; for however little, 
 theoretically, a servant's word may bs worth in Home, 
 where their dishonesty is proverbial, malice can 
 always use them. 
 
 Valeria went to Miss Pendleton, and told her all 
 her troubles, giving the Countess Belvedere's name.
 
 214 BY THE TIBER. 
 
 Here, at least, she thought, her confidence was 
 safe. 
 
 Miss Pendleton showed less surprise than she ex- 
 pected. A quick smile and a brightening of the eyes 
 showed that some new light had broken into her mind 
 on a subject not clearly understood before. Perhaps 
 she understood better the influence which had induced 
 her to beg Valeria to leave her house. 
 
 " The Countess Belvedere never had a good name, 
 even as a girl," she said. " And last year a very ex- 
 cellent French maid who had been living with her a 
 little while came to beg me to find her another place. 
 She was not willing to live with a woman who con- 
 ducted herself so." 
 
 Again Valeria was disappointed of any suggestion 
 of help. It was nothing but gossip with them all. 
 
 But at home a pleasant letter awaited her. Her 
 book, sent to America the autumn before, and ever 
 since that time circulating round in a purgatory of 
 critical publishers, till she had got to look upon this 
 temporary state as its final Inferno, had at length been 
 accepted, and would be published at once. It was a 
 little ray of light in so much darkness. 
 
 " And now, if I could only escape all these people, 
 and go out of town," she thought, " I should be 
 happy." 
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 SOLE IN LEONE. 
 
 T 7ITTOPJO had watched all to no purpose. He had 
 
 V reproached and begged and threatened, and all 
 
 to no purpose. There were times when he was tempted 
 
 to kill himself ; not that he wished to die, but from a
 
 SOLE IN LEONE. 215 
 
 nervous fury at being so thwarted and baffled. The 
 amused look which he caught sometimes in Bruno's 
 face put him in a passion which it required all his 
 pride to conceal. The smooth evasions with which he 
 was met maddened him. 
 
 Violence, he knew, would avail him nothing. He 
 must oppose guile to guile. 
 
 He knew, moreover, that his time was short. It 
 was incredible that the Countess would not find some 
 means to have him sent away, without herself seem- 
 ing to have anything to do with it. He had caught a 
 spark of anger in her eyes more than once, and seen 
 her straighten her neck with an arrogant scorn which 
 did not promise a long patience. 
 
 If he were ever to know the truth, then, he must 
 know it soon. 
 
 He asked leave to go to Palestrina. He had to see 
 Marco on business, he said, and would stay but one 
 night. 
 
 Permission was readily accorded. 
 
 " Cannot you come back in the evening of the same 
 day ? " asked the Countess sweetly. 
 
 " How can I ? " he replied. " I should not have 
 two hours to stay." 
 
 " Then if you stay two days, you can take a com- 
 mission from me. They say that Maria Magistri has 
 an antique white intaglio of Augustus that they found 
 in one of their vineyards. Tell her that I would like 
 to see it, and that if it should please me, I will buy it. 
 She can give it to you to bring me." 
 
 Vittorio started at early dawn, and reached Villa 
 Frattina just before noon. He had not meant to go 
 to the villa; but there were four or five hours on 
 his hands, and he knew not how else to employ them. 
 He did not dare to spend them alone thinking. He 
 knew what he meant to do. There was nothing to 
 Btudy out. He meant to return to Home, conceal
 
 216 BY THE TIBER. 
 
 himself in the garden, and see who it was who came 
 in by the gate. He would see his face, and then put 
 him out into the street with a strong hand, and with 
 whatever roughness the moment should dictate. To 
 identify this man was a longing so engrossing that it 
 hid all which should come after. 
 
 Marco was eating his dinner when Vittorio arrived 
 at the villa, and the first notice he had of it was 
 Rosa's glad cry. The girl, who came down frequently 
 from the palace during the day to see her father, was 
 serving the table for him when she saw her step- 
 brother through the window. 
 
 " Vittorio ! " she cried ; and, running out, flew down 
 between the green hedges and the gray statues, and 
 flung her arms about his neck. 
 
 He kissed her on both cheeks, smiled at her, and 
 went to the house with her hanging on his arm. 
 
 Marco had raised himself a moment from his chair 
 to see over the window-ledge, then had resumed his 
 dinner. He greeted his step-son with a serious " Ben 
 venuto ! " and a grasp of the hand, and, pulling a chair 
 to the table for him, bade Eosa prepare him some- 
 thing to eat. He asked no questions. He and Vitto- 
 rio understood each other too well to ask questions. 
 Each sympathized too thoroughly with that moody 
 discontent which makes a life of routine intolerable, 
 and an occasional caprice a necessary relief. Eoutine 
 is pleasing only to dull minds or to contented ones. 
 These caprices in Marco had almost given way to age, 
 and to the sweet influences of Eosa, who was like 
 oil on the troubled waters of his soul ; but he more 
 than suspected that Vittorio had found in his new 
 home a greater trouble than he had carried there. 
 
 Marco's first feeling of triumph on perceiving the 
 impending relations between his step-son and the 
 Countess Belvedere had arisen from a forgetfulness of 
 the difference between Vittorio's character and his
 
 SOLE IN LEONE. 217 
 
 own. In Vittorio's place, he would have made a fortune 
 from such a connection ; would have procured wealth 
 and place by means of it, and would have made the 
 woman's disgrace at last as plain as had been that of 
 Felicita. He had learned his mistake, and he now 
 feared that, instead of conqueror, Vittorio was to be a 
 victim. The poor and obscure are always the vic- 
 tims, he thought. Though they have the axe in their 
 own hands, and the great seem unarmed, the blade 
 will turn in the hand even of him who wields it, and 
 wound where it should have avenged. " We have no 
 help in heaven or in earth," he thought, as he glanced 
 into Vittorio's worn, yet burning face. 
 
 " I took a caprice to come here to-day for a change 
 of air ; but I am going back to-night," Vittorio 
 said. 
 
 Rosa began to expostulate. Could he not go up 
 and stay at the palace that night ? Chiara had a 
 spare bed. And she wanted him to walk up through 
 the town with her. 
 
 " I '11 walk up with you if you go early enough," 
 he said. " But I must go back in the evening train, 
 and it will take me an hour to go over to Valmon- 
 tone." 
 
 " I will go back to Rome with you," Marco said, 
 without looking up; and since he received no an- 
 swer, lifted his eyes inquiringly, and saw that Vitto- 
 rio was hesitating and embarrassed. 
 
 " Go and get a bottle of rosolio," he said to Rosa ; 
 and when she was out of the room, added, " Will it 
 put you out if I go ? " 
 
 " I did n't mean they should know that I was coming 
 back," Vittorio said in a low voice, his eyes downcast. 
 " I said that I should stay here all night." 
 
 Marco's suspicion was instantly confirmed, as was 
 also his wish to go. 
 
 " I will keep quiet," he said, " and go wherever you
 
 218 BY THE TIBER. 
 
 like. If I should be in the way in the house, I can 
 go somewhere else." 
 
 " Come with me if you can be quiet," Vittorio 
 replied. 
 
 It occurred to him that once he should know the 
 truth, he might like to have Marco's advice. He had 
 so far gone on in his own way ; but this misery of 
 love and jealousy had made him as weak as a woman. 
 Marco was his only friend. On the whole, he would 
 like to have him near. Marco had loved once in his 
 life, and had been betrayed, for Vittorio knew all 
 his mother's story, therefore he could understand. 
 But Vittorio never placed Felicita in the same cate- 
 gory with the Countess Belvedere. He reverenced 
 the memory of his mother, and still more since he had 
 inherited her fate. To him she was a flower rudely 
 broken by cruel hands. He never remembered her 
 without imagining what he would feel if Eosa were 
 to be so sacrificed. 
 
 After dinner was over, Marco lighted his pipe, 
 and, seating himself in the window, with his arms 
 resting on the sill, smoked gloomily, looking out to- 
 ward the terraces with their low green arabesques 
 of hedges, their soaring oaks and cypresses above, 
 and the laurels that stretched right and left Gray 
 and mossy stone figures looked down at him, fixed 
 forever in one attitude. He, too, was forever fixed in 
 one position, and could never escape from it except 
 by death. 
 
 " And who knows if death may not be another sort 
 of tyranny ? " he thought. 
 
 Rosa came to him, put her arm around his neck, 
 and kissed his dark face with her fresh lips. 
 
 " Good-by, papa ! Vittorio is going up with me 
 now. Be sure you come back to-morrow morning. I 
 shall come down just the same." 
 
 Vittorio understood that the poor child was almost
 
 SOLE IN LEONE. 219 
 
 as solitary as himself, and that it was a proud delight 
 for her to be escorted by her brother ; and he hu- 
 mored her. Hateful as it was to him, he walked up 
 the long, tree-shadowed avenue where all the town 
 came out later for a promenade, and through the 
 piazza, where everybody congregated, and took the 
 most frequented ways, to show that poor little Rosa 
 had some one besides an old woman to think for and 
 protect her. 
 
 If he had been less troubled, he might well have 
 been proud to have that pretty creature at his side. 
 Rosa had lengthened her skirts, and discarded her 
 handkerchief for a veil, and in her sweet and simple 
 dignity looked quite the lady. It was evident that 
 she was proud of her companion. Her shining eyes 
 seemed to ask of every one they met if they did not 
 see this beautiful brother of hers. And yet her eyes 
 searched his face wistfully now and then, and tears 
 rose in them more than once, she scarcely knew why. 
 Perhaps she had learned to feel that love is not 
 always joyous. Perhaps she felt some unusual gloom 
 about him, though he had never been gay. 
 
 The unspoken pain of others had never oppressed 
 her in the days that were past. She had thought 
 that people cried out when they were hurt, and that 
 gloom and sadness were only a way that some had. 
 even as they had fair or dark hair, and blue eyes or 
 black. But now she was more touched by a sad look 
 than by a spoken sorrow. 
 
 " Is your painter up at the palace this summer ? " 
 her brother asked. 
 
 " No ; but the Signora Maria says that he will come 
 again this winter or next spring." 
 
 They walked on awhile in silence ; then she said, 
 with a slight effort, " I suppose Madama Valeria has 
 gone somewhere for a villeggiatura this summer." ^ 
 
 "I don't know," he replied; then, recollecting,
 
 220 BY THE TIBER. 
 
 " You mean the American in the casuccia ? No ; I be- 
 lieve she is there now. I hardly ever see her. I 
 have never spoken with her. When you come to 
 Home I will give you some flowers to carry her." 
 
 " I wish I could go to Home with you to-day ! " 
 Rosa said, her voice becoming tremulous. 
 
 " You can't go to-day, carina ; but you shall go 
 soon, this autumn, surely. It is dull for you here. 
 You can stay at Sor Bianca's house. Will that con- 
 tent you ? I promise that you shall go." 
 
 " Yes," she replied, smiling through her tears." But 
 someway it seems to me as if I could n't wait. Did 
 you ever feel as if you would like to throw whole 
 months behind you, like that ? " flinging behind her 
 with a gesture of sudden passion a bunch of half- 
 wilted flowers that she had brought up from the villa. 
 
 " Yes ! " said Vittorio, looking at her with awak- 
 ened interest. " Has anybody been annoying you ? " 
 he asked after a moment. 
 
 " No ; but sometimes I get nervous. I think it 's 
 the weather." 
 
 They had reached the wide-spreading steps that 
 lead up to the palace door. Vittorio released Rosa's 
 hand from his arm, and took it in his, leading her up 
 the steps so. They looked as bright and beautiful 
 and dainty as two birds might who had come up to 
 build their nest in that gray old pile. 
 
 At the door they stopped. " I have n't time to 
 go in," Vittorio said, holding still his sister's hand. 
 " Remember, now, you are to come to Rome and stay 
 a month just as soon as the summer and the fever- 
 season are over. And now, addio ! " 
 
 They stood smiling in each other's faces an instant, 
 then leaned together with a mutual embrace and a 
 double kiss. 
 
 " Is there anything else you want ? " Vittorio asked, 
 half turned to go.
 
 SOLE IN LEONE. 221 
 
 " Nothing," she replied faintly. 
 
 He went down the steps ; and when he had crossed 
 the street, looked back, and saw her still there in the 
 door, looking after him, her head drooping a little to 
 one side. In all that grayness of carved and piled-up 
 stone, her small bright figure looked like a flower 
 growing in an old wall. 
 
 For a moment the image of her drove every other 
 thought out of his mind. She was not pale, nor pin- 
 ing, nor, apparently, unhappy ; but where had her 
 laughter gone ? 
 
 Marco and Vittorio started at five o'clock on foot 
 to go to Valrnontone. Instead of taking the road, 
 they plunged into a path that led down among the 
 vines opposite the house. This was the shorter way. 
 Sometimes they were shut in closely by a green wall 
 hanging thick with unripe bunches of white grapes ; 
 sometimes they passed through a scattered grove of 
 walnut-trees ; and then they plunged into an ocean of 
 yellow wheat that leaned with all its red and blue 
 poppies and bachelor's-buttons half over the narrow 
 path ; and then the way grew rough and rocky, and 
 flowering elder-trees, and dried branches wreathed 
 with large white convolvuli and tangled ivy, half 
 hid with their screen the yawning caverns at the 
 roadside ; and then all that wildness gave place 
 to a gayly blossoming field of lupines, planted for 
 dressing. 
 
 " The wheat is good this year," Marco said. " It 
 gives us twenty for one. It is a good year for every- 
 thing." 
 
 "When wheat grows, everything grows, both 
 bitter and sweet," said Vittorio with a slight em- 
 phasis. 
 
 " Vittorio, what are you going to do ? " asked Marco 
 suddenly, coming beside the young man and touching 
 his arm.
 
 222 BY THE TIBER. 
 
 " I only want to find out something," Vittorio re- 
 plied lightly. 
 
 " Don't you know your man ? " 
 
 " I think I do ; but I am not sure." 
 
 " And then ? " asked Marco in a half whisper. 
 
 " Then I shall think it over." 
 
 " You mean to take time to think it over ? " 
 
 " Certainly. When a man catches too hastily at a 
 knife, he may catch it by the blade instead of the 
 handle." 
 
 Marco gave a low growl like an angry chained 
 dog. 
 
 " We always take the knife by the blade," he said. 
 " It has no handle for us." 
 
 They walked on in silence, and reached Valmontone 
 just as the train from Naples was coming in sight. 
 Vittorio did not take their tickets for Home, but for 
 the last station before arriving at Rome. There they 
 found a carriage waiting that took them to the Porta 
 Maggiore, where they descended. 
 
 It was now quite dark ; but as they hurried through 
 the lonely ways or the crowded streets, Vittorio did 
 not go straight to his home, nor reach it without stop- 
 ping many times and looking about him. But at 
 length they were at the door. 
 
 " Do you want me to do anything ? Speak the 
 word if you do ! " Marco whispered, when they had 
 entered the house. 
 
 " There is nothing for you to do but go to bed and 
 to sleep." 
 
 " Are you sure that there is no danger ? " 
 
 "Sure." 
 
 They took their shoes off at the landing of the 
 stairs. All the doors and windows of the house were 
 open. Marco went softly to an inner room, and 
 threw himself on to the bed, without undressing. He 
 meant only to content Vittorio, not to go to sleep.
 
 SOLE IN LEONE. 223 
 
 But the fatigue of a day's work and a journey, added 
 to the heat, overcame him, and he slept. 
 
 Valeria was sitting in her study window when the 
 two men arrived. She had avoided it of late ; but it 
 seemed probable that the Countess Belvedere was out 
 of Eome at this season ; and, moreover, she was think- 
 ing of something else at the time. 
 
 The night was magnificently dark, and sparkling 
 with stars, and the flo\vers in the garden showed 
 
 Ehosphorescent lights and flashes here and there, 
 he had been sitting at her window a long time, 
 watching first how a sunset that is golden in the 
 west will look in the north; then seeing how the 
 stars come out, first a doubt, then a hint, then a twin- 
 kle, and lastly a lamp. Then she had wondered why 
 there came first a breath of rose, then a sigh of mign- 
 onette, then a rush of orange-flower, or a dream of a 
 breath of pansies, then, all at once, a full sigh of them 
 all mingled in inextricable sweetness, and almost too 
 rich to breathe. 
 
 Finding the air oppressive, she rose and walked 
 about the house. All the doors and windows were 
 open ; and as she reached a window looking out on 
 Via Nera, a close carriage came slowly down Via 
 Claudia, and stopped before reaching the corner. 
 
 There was the spurt of a match under the arch- 
 way near her window, a momentary red light, then 
 silence and darkness again. 
 
 "Pak!" she muttered, and went away from the 
 window. 
 
 Still walking about, she heard the garden gate open, 
 not so softly as usual ; and then there was a moment 
 of silence. 
 
 " When a woman of low station misbehaves," re- 
 marked Valeria to herself, " she is demi-monde ; when 
 a woman of rank does the same, she is le monde et 
 demi, which makes a world of difference." Aiid
 
 224 BY THE TIBER. 
 
 then she went back to her own interrupted thoughts : 
 " First, I will write a book which shall be a frag- 
 mentary piece cut out of life, like a square of turf 
 you cut, with perhaps no whole weed in it ; and peo- 
 ple who like a story will be disappointed, because 
 nothing is concluded. And then I will write another, 
 which shall be like a single root pulled up, and all the 
 roots and weeds that naturally cling shall be pulled 
 away ; and then the story -readers will say, ' At last 
 here is something complete.' And " The words 
 and her breath were checked on her lips, and the 
 blood in her veins, by a sound that was neither a 
 word nor a cry, but breaths strongly and sharply 
 drawn and expelled, mingled with a crunching of 
 gravel under struggling feet. 
 
 She waited a moment for this strange noise to cease, 
 then ran into the study, half wrapped herself in the 
 curtains, and looked out. In the shadows before her 
 window two darker shadows were struggling, a third 
 precipitated himself upon them, and a fourth rushed 
 in from the gate. All passed in a minute. There did 
 not seem to have been a word uttered. 
 
 Then, as suddenly as it had commenced, the struggle 
 ceased ; there was a strange sound, not loud, but more 
 terrible than thunder. It was a gurgling sound of one 
 who is suffocated in his own blood. Then something 
 fell. 
 
 There was an instant's pause ; then three figures 
 hurried to the gate. One, a man wrapped in a cloak, 
 ran up Via Claudia, entered the carriage standing 
 there, and was driven away; after a moment, the 
 other two came out into the street, walked off in op- 
 posite directions, looked about, and came back. These 
 were Bruno, and a man who had sometimes worked 
 in the garden, one Tito, a large black-browed man, 
 with a seamed and wicked face. 
 
 Seated in the garden window, with the curtains
 
 SOLE IN LEONE. 225 
 
 almost drawn together before her, and shaking as with 
 an ague in that heat, Valeria fixed her eyes on the 
 shadows and waited. There was not a sound, except 
 one of breathing that came from under the arch, and 
 showed that the two men below were also waiting. 
 
 They waited in vain ; for there was no stir amid 
 the shadows under the camellias. But after a while 
 a figure came rustling along the fiower-beds from 
 the direction of the palace, and Bruno went out to 
 meet it. There was a whispered conversation ; then 
 the Countess Belvedere's maid went back to her mis- 
 tress, and Bruno returned to his post. 
 
 The waning moon came up in the east, pale and 
 languid like the ghost of an exhausted passion. It 
 threw a melancholy white light over the tree-tops ; 
 the beams moved downward and blanched the lower 
 shrubs, and slid along the walks, and touched the 
 edges of the heavy shadows. Inch by inch it crept 
 over the grass, and two dark heads were stretched out 
 from under the archway of the gate, and followed its 
 course. There were three pairs of eyes strained to 
 see what would come next. First appeared a daisy, 
 and grasses that looked stiffened; and then a hand, as 
 white as though it belonged to a marble statue fallen 
 there, lay out, the palm upward. 
 
 One of the three who saw it slipped down to her 
 knees. The two men stole forward, lifted the mo- 
 tionless figure, and bore it toward the gardener's 
 house, stepping carefully over the sward. 
 
 There was no lamp ; but the moon shone in, and 
 laid a square of whiteness on the floor. They laid 
 him in that ; then Bruno lighted a lamp, and the two 
 men knelt, one at either side of Vittorio, and began to 
 examine him. It was a mere form ; for one glance 
 would have told the tale ; and Bruno knew but too 
 well where he had struck, and how the warm blood 
 had spouted out from the neck he had aimed at. 
 15
 
 226 BY THE TIBER. 
 
 " Fool ! he would have it ! " he muttered in a trem- 
 bling voice. " Why did n't he let go ? " 
 
 Hearing a slight noise, the two turned their heads, 
 and saw Marco's face gazing out from the darkness of 
 an inner door. His head was stretched out, his body 
 invisible, and his eyes were fixed upon the mute form 
 on the floor. 
 
 At the first glimpse of him Bruno started up, with 
 a faint cry of terror, and fled out of the room and 
 through the garden. 
 
 " You here, Marco ! I 'm glad of it ! " said Tito, look- 
 ing steadily into his terrible face. " But it 's a pity 
 you had n't been awake to prevent this. Poor Vittorio 
 has had a fight with somebody." 
 
 Marco came slowly forward, and stooped down over 
 the prostrate form. 
 
 " I 'm afraid it 's all over," said Tito. 
 
 The words were scarcely uttered before Marco was 
 on the track of the fugitive. Their swift steps flew 
 over the garden walks, out through the gate and into 
 the silent street. Bruno, winged with terror, flew he 
 knew not whither; Marco, nerved to the energy of 
 youth by the wild spirit of vengeance, followed the 
 echo of his footsteps in the close-shut walls, and his 
 fleeting shade in the pallid lights. 
 
 At a cross street a carriage was just starting from 
 an open door. Bruno threw himself under the step ; 
 for he could go no farther. The door closed as Marco 
 came round the corner, and there was no one in sight. 
 He believed that Bruno was lost to him for that time. 
 
 He waited a moment, then went back to the villa. 
 
 Tito asked no questions as he came in. " It 's a bad 
 thing," he said ; " but what 's done is done. I 'd have 
 given a good deal to prevent it. I was outside, and 
 heard the scuffle ; and when I reached them, it was 
 too late. But I don't know who it was struck him, 
 on my life I don't ! It was too dark to see."
 
 SOLE IN LEONE. 227 
 
 Marco said nothing. 
 
 "It would be best to hush it up," Tito went on. 
 " You see, nothing could be done, and they might say 
 something against Vittorio. He went away, and said 
 he should n't come back till to-morrow; so no one 
 could believe there was a plan to kill him. I thought 
 he was in Palestrina till I saw him on the ground out 
 there." 
 
 Still Marco said nothing. He was sitting where he 
 had dropped into a chair on entering, and staring into 
 Vittorio's lace. 
 
 Tito waited a moment, then found a lanthorn, 
 lighted it, and went out into the garden, saying that 
 he would return presently. He got a spade, and a 
 watering-pot full of water, and went toward the ca- 
 mellias. He took up the stained gravel, and washed 
 the stained grass ; he went away and brought fresh 
 gravel, and washed it down with water. He peered 
 about in every direction. When all was done, and he 
 had started to go away, he turned back, and flashed 
 his light up at the window of the casuccia. It was 
 open, but the curtains hung straight over it. 
 
 Valeria was there out of sight, on her knees. She 
 could not rise. She seemed to have become stiffened 
 into that position. 
 
 A few moments afterward a faint light showed 
 across the garden, behind the oranges, where the pas- 
 sion-flowers grew. There was a muffled sound of 
 shovelling earth, which lasted till daylight, and there 
 were steps that went stealthily, and a rustling of the 
 shrubs, as if something were carried past them. 
 
 At daylight all was quiet. 
 
 Tito came out from the direction of the gardeners 
 house shortly after, and paused beneath Valeria's 
 window again, and stood there a moment looking up 
 with his evil face. Then he went away. And at last 
 the sun came up.
 
 228 BY THE TIBER. 
 
 "When its first beams touched the tree-tops, Marco's 
 work was done. 
 
 " Go and tell the Countess Belvedere to come down 
 here," he said to Tito. It was the first word that he 
 had spoken since he came out. 
 
 They stood in the little opening between the orange- 
 screen and the passion-flower draped wall. Two sides 
 of this jutting square of wall were covered with the 
 vines. On the third side Vittorio had prepared the 
 earth to receive other roots. This bed had been newly 
 disturbed. 
 
 " Now, Marco, what is the use ? " Tito said coax- 
 ingly. " The Countess knows nothing about it, and it 
 will upset her. What do you want to do ? I 've given 
 up to you in everything, and helped you, for peace' 
 sake. The Countess thought a great deal of Vittorio, 
 and this will make her sick. Why can't you let go 
 now ? I 'm sorry ; but there 's no help for it. Noth- 
 ing will help. Nothing can be done. It will be said 
 that Vittorio came back here last night, when he had 
 said that he shouldn't, that he had a quarrel with 
 Bruno, and that Bruno defended himself. If you go 
 to law about it, what good will you get ? And what 
 good will you get by talking with the Countess ? " 
 
 " Go and tell her to come out here ! " said Marco. 
 
 It was evident that he would not yield. 
 
 " You can't imagine that she will come," Tito said. 
 " She will be afraid of you." 
 
 Marco took his knife from his belt, and held the 
 handle out to Tito. " It 's all the arm I have," he 
 said. " You may keep it till after I have seen her. 
 Don't be afraid ; I don't mean to touch her now. I 
 only want to say a word to her. And if she does n't 
 come, I '11 go into the palace and drag her out before 
 them all" 
 
 Tito went toward the rose-garden, got behind a 
 tree, where he could be seen only from the loggia,
 
 SOLE IN LEONE. 229 
 
 and when the maid came out there, beckoned her 
 down. 
 
 Ten minutes later, the Countess Belvedere, wrapped 
 in a dressing-gown that was scarcely so white as her 
 face, came out with a hesitating step, and slowly 
 approached the place where Marco awaited her. She 
 was closely followed by her maid and Tito. She 
 paused at some distance. Marco, standing beside the 
 wall, beckoned her. 
 
 " Oh, Marco, I am so sorry ! " she cried, bursting 
 into tears. " I will have Bruno taken and hanged ! 
 I don't know how it happened ! " 
 
 If Marco had not believed that Vittorio had rushed 
 upon a death that was not premeditated for him, or, 
 at least, not then, he would have torn her in pieces 
 with his hands, in spite of his promise. He cared no 
 more for a promise to those people than he cared for 
 the sands under his feet. 
 
 " Come here ! " he said. 
 
 She glanced behind at her attendants, then drew 
 tremblingly nearer. 
 
 " There he lies ! " said Marco, pointing to the flower- 
 bed under the wall. " I have wrapped him up in my 
 cloak, and fastened it around him with his own dag- 
 ger. It was in his belt. He had not drawn it. See 
 to it that he is not disturbed. If his body is n't there 
 when I come, or send for it, I will cut you into a 
 thousand pieces ! " 
 
 " Oh, I will do anything you wish ! " she cried in 
 abject terror. 
 
 " Get down on your knees and swear it ! " 
 
 She dropped on her knees in the gravel. 
 
 " Not there ! " said Marco. " Kneel on the edge of 
 his grave." 
 
 She rose, and, though shrinking with terror, did 
 as he commanded her, and held up her hands and 
 swore.
 
 230 BY THE TIBER. 
 
 As she finished speaking, Marco bent forward, and 
 spat in her face. " Now get out of my sight ! " he 
 said, and turned to Tito. " Give me my knife." 
 
 Tito gave up his knife ; and the Countess and her 
 maid fled to the palace. 
 
 Marco stood one moment looking down on the 
 grave at his feet, then went back to the house. He 
 prepared Vittorio's possessions to be removed, told 
 Tito what to do with them, then went out of the 
 door, and walked away. 
 
 CHAPTER XXH. 
 
 IN A WHEAT-FIELD. 
 
 WHEN Marco had turned backward, believing 
 his chase to be a vain one, Bruno crept out 
 from his place of concealment, and ran in an opposite 
 direction. He could not convince himself that he was 
 no longer followed. He stopped only when he had 
 reached the Palace of St. John Lateran. 
 
 There was no person in sight ; but he heard a 
 tinkling of little bells from the road that came up 
 from the Roman Forum, and presently there appeared 
 a wine-cart. It came nearer, piled with empty hogs- 
 heads that had been exchanged for full ones, and 
 he could see the driver quite alone, nodding in his 
 seat. 
 
 Bruno spoke to him. 
 
 " Let me go out a piece with you. I want to get 
 away, and I will pay you anything. I will get up 
 behind. Only stop that dog, will you ? " 
 
 The man said a word to the little white dog that, 
 perched on the top of the hogsheads, was barking
 
 IN A WHEA T-FIELD. 231 
 
 furiously, and waited while Bruno crawled in at the 
 back of the cart, and lay down so as to watch the 
 road behind them ; then the cart rolled on, and out 
 through the gate. 
 
 The cluster of little bells beside the driver's seat 
 tinkled softly; the dog, after barking awhile longer 
 to assert his importance, lay down, put his nose 
 between his paws, and slept with his eyes shut and 
 his ears open. 
 
 Bruno lay bathed in perspiration, yet shivering. 
 He began to be sorry for having got into the cart ; for 
 the noise of it would prevent his hearing any sound 
 of pursuit ; and, if caught thus, he would not be able 
 to extricate himself. He lay on his face, with his 
 head lifted. Now and then he pushed back the hair 
 that fell over his staring eyes. The hand was red to 
 the wrist, and the fingers left red marks across his 
 forehead. 
 
 The stones gave place presently to an unpaved 
 road ; the houses grew fewer, and disappeared ; and 
 the thin mists of the campagna, through which the 
 stars looked like tear-dimmed eyes, wrapped them 
 round. 
 
 He lay and watched the road with straining vision 
 for a shape or a sound. His eyes searched the tree- 
 shadows, and fancied that they moved. Sometimes 
 he imagined that some one was beside the cart, and 
 leaning round the corner of it, with an uplifted knife. 
 If Marco found him, he would not merely be killed, 
 he would be cut into a thousand pieces. He had 
 always feared Marco, who was dark and strong and 
 silent. 
 
 Moments of intense suffering or of rapt delight 
 give one a faint idea of the mystery of eternity ; for 
 time drops out of sight like a bird that is shot on the 
 wing, and there is no motion across the crystalline 
 surface of impassive immensity. The sunshine of
 
 232 BY THE TIBER. 
 
 heaven is wrapped about us, or we are caught in the 
 toils of everlasting torment, and there is no end. 
 
 The white light of early dawn came faintly up 
 against the white light of the waning moon. It was 
 the meeting of two ghosts. They passed through each 
 other, gliding on their ways. A long road stretched 
 itself out, blanching to a chalk-white through the 
 green country, and there was not a person to be seen 
 on it. 
 
 A faint hope of escape stole into Bruno's mind, 
 hurting him as it released the tension of his fears, 
 and with that tension the strength and wakefulness 
 which it had upheld. Utter exhaustion fell upon 
 him. He dropped his face down, clasped his hands 
 up over the top of his head, with a last confused in- 
 stinct of hiding himself, and sank into a trance that 
 was half sleep and half a swoon. 
 
 He was awakened by a chorus of birds. He tried to 
 move, and could not. Then, opening his eyes, and 
 lifting his head a little, he looked out on a dewy, sun- 
 swept landscape rejoicing in all the gladness of a sum- 
 mer morning in the country. The sickening sense of 
 his condition returned upon him, and he was about 
 thrusting his head out farther to find, if possible, where 
 he was, when he heard voices talking. Quickly re- 
 suming his former position, he listened, 
 
 It was a fresh, girlish voice that spoke, with laugh- 
 ter between the words ; and the rough voice of an old 
 woman answered. They were quite near, and the 
 driver of the cart exchanged a salutation with them. 
 They must have almost passed by, when the girl spoke 
 again. 
 
 "See, Chiara! there is a man asleep under the 
 hogsheads. And, see ! one of his hands is all red." 
 
 The bitterness of death swept over Bruno's soul. 
 He seemed to be floating on a great tide that tossed 
 him to and fro, and stifled him.
 
 IN A WHEAT-FIELD. 233 
 
 Gasping for breath, he lifted his face after a minute, 
 and looked out. 
 
 Eosa and Chiara were at some distance, just enter- 
 ing the gates of Villa Frattina. He had believed that 
 he was going toward Albano ; and instead of that, lie 
 had gone into the very jaws of the lion ! 
 
 All the frenzy of his first flight possessed him again. 
 Extricating himself from his hiding-place, he dropped 
 out into the road, tossed his purse to the driver, and 
 plunged into the path which Marco and Vittorio had 
 taken the day before. At first he ran, then he ad- 
 vanced more warily, avoiding the cabins of the guar- 
 dians, and making for a wooded ravine not far distant. 
 He had reached it, and was about letting himself 
 down the rocks, when he came face to face with an 
 old woman. She stared at him, uttered a faint scream, 
 and dropped a bundle of green herbs she had in her 
 apron. 
 
 Bruno turned from her without a sound, and fled 
 in another direction. He knew presently that he was 
 not far from the highway, but it was impossible to 
 turn back. A great wheat-field was near, and he 
 slipped into it. 
 
 This field was a sea of splendid, rolling gold, 
 sprinkled through with scarlet poppies, and it soared 
 far over him as he crawled carefully in till he could 
 see nothing on all sides but the myriad slender stems 
 of the ripe grain. Then he sank down and listened, 
 panting, and yet trying to hush his heavy breaths. 
 
 He crouched on the ground till his limbs felt 
 cramped ; then he sat. The sun ran over the wheat- 
 heads, rose higher, and a dazzling rain began to sift 
 through the stems. Bruno's heart was thumping 
 hard and high in his breast, and his thoughts started 
 out like sparks from an anvil. Marco would come 
 back to Palestrina ; Rosa would know, and would tell 
 of the man with the red hands hidden among the
 
 234 BY THE TIBER. 
 
 wine-hogsheads ; they would find the driver, would 
 learn the path he had taken, would question the old 
 woman he had met, and there they were now ! 
 
 There was a sound of men's voices, but they were 
 quiet and far away, and some one was singing a 
 vintage-song. Not yet ! 
 
 He lay down, stretched at length, to feel the cool- 
 ness of the earth, and be out of the sun for a little 
 while longer. Ah ! why had he left Eome ? There 
 was safety, a thousand hiding-places, and friends at 
 hand who were bound to protect him. He saw now 
 what a fatal error his fright had led him into, and he 
 knew not how to remedy it, even if he could have es- 
 caped into some other town. Why had he not run into 
 the palace itself and claimed protection ? He had his 
 story all ready to tell. They were always prepared, 
 and no event could be unforeseen to them. He was 
 prepared, then, "in case any accident should happen 
 to Vittorio," or certain others. Of course, it meant 
 that Vittorio or one of those certain others might 
 attack him, and force him to defend himself. 
 
 How red the poppies were ! How horribly they 
 sprinkled, drop by drop, all the ground about! And 
 his hands he tried to wipe them ; but Dives him- 
 self could not have found a drop of water here, and 
 the stains would cling. And presently there was a 
 sound, faint and thin, no sound of voice or step of 
 man or song of bird, but most like a faint intermit- 
 tent whistling of wind in the rigging of a ship at sea, 
 when the spirits of the air go before a tempest. It was 
 sharp and thin, and it came from right and left and 
 from before him. They were reaping the grain toward ' 
 him from every side. 
 
 Bruno raised himself on his hands and knees, and 
 gazed about ; but saw nothing. The field was large, 
 and they were yet far away. There were five sickles. 
 He could count them in the sultry silence, and they
 
 IN A WHEA T-FIELD. 235 
 
 were in a semicircle about him. At the other side 
 was a path, and open spaces, with probably no nook 
 to hide in. 
 
 The sun went up and hung in the meridian, and the 
 reapers stopped ; and still he had not seen them. 
 Could they reap all the afternoon and not reach him ? 
 He stayed there on his hands and knees, like a beast, 
 and waited. The sun slanted toward the west a little, 
 blazing down with its long rays. The reapers began 
 again, and he crawled inch by inch away from the 
 sound of them. How he hated the daylight witli all 
 its blinding red and gold ! His head was swimming 
 with the heat, and with hunger and thirst too ; but 
 he did not think of that. He could hear the severed 
 handfuls of wheat drop on the pile, and fancied that 
 he could see dark blotches of human forms through 
 the yellow wilderness. 
 
 " O God ! " he muttered, and crawled away, care- 
 fully parting the wheat-stalks, that they might not 
 see the tops move as they came steadily toward him 
 with their five crooked blades. Who knew but that 
 it was Marco's revenge that they should hem him in 
 so, step by step, till they should reach and kill him 
 with their sickles, that he could hear whispering and 
 hissing nearer every moment ? 
 
 The sun declined, and changed from gold to orange 
 and from orange to red. He could hear distinctly 
 now each cut of the blades, each drop of the handfuls 
 of grain, and now and then a word or a cough ; and 
 the figures of the men were seen in glimpses. As he 
 crawled on, the sweat of his torment fell upon the 
 ground. 
 
 And by and by other dark shapes, showing through 
 the wheat before him, terrified him anew, till he 
 knew that they were tree-supported grape-vines that 
 ran along beside the path. 
 
 The crimson of the sunlight deepened; soft shadows
 
 236 BY THE TIBER. 
 
 rose from the ground, pushed the red off the wheat- 
 tops, and faded into the air. . 
 
 And now Bruno could see the forms of his pursuers, 
 and the glistening of the steel, quick and curved. 
 He crawled to the tree directly before him, peeped 
 out, and saw that the land was nearly open at the 
 opposite side of the path, and that there was a cabin 
 not far away. 
 
 He was longing to look out, to see the path, to 
 look up to Palestrina, which he knew would be just 
 above him, and to see how far he was from the high- 
 way ; but he dared not. The vines did not grow 
 thickly enough ; the wheat was golden, the light was 
 rosy, and his head was so black, so black ! And how 
 did he know but a knife was waiting for it to be 
 thrust out ? 
 
 He crept close to the tree, and looked at the vine 
 full of unripe grapes. They cast a merciful shadow 
 over him. All day long he had fled before the reap- 
 ers, how horrible it was, like a nightmare, to fly,on 
 one's knees! and this was the first touch of mercy 
 that he had felt. It had been all burning red and 
 yellow. 
 
 At the other side of the path were vine-laden trees 
 thinly set, and a small wheat-field that had all been 
 reaped. An old woman was going about, gathering 
 up the scattered stalks, and laying them on a yellow 
 wall of wheat that stretched along the field. 
 
 It was the woman he had met in the morning. 
 
 He watched her, wondering if she would betray 
 him. She must know that he was somewhere in 
 the neighborhood. He looked at the cabin door, and 
 fancied that he saw some one inside. Then he turned 
 his head backward, and listened. There was no sound. 
 The reapers had ceased their labors. 
 
 Then he laid his cheek to the earth, where the 
 weeds would cover his head, pushed it out toward
 
 IN A WHEA T-FIELD. 237 
 
 the path, and looked up to Palestrina. Nearly all 
 the city was in a clear pale light, only the higher 
 points being still red. There was a movement along 
 the road of men and women and animals going up 
 to the town after their day's work, as they used to do 
 when he was a boy. On the mountain-top the hamlet 
 of San Pietro blazed out like a beacon. 
 
 As he looked, voices came up the path. He drew 
 quickly back, and peeped out at a party that sauntered 
 by. There were the reapers, with their scythes on 
 their arms, and with them two girls who had been 
 washing clothes at a fountain farther down in the 
 plain. The girls carried large baskets of clean linen on 
 their heads, poised lightly, without touching a hand 
 to them ; and they laughed and jested, and stepped 
 out of the path to break off the fresh vine-tendrils 
 and eat them. One pulled at the vine that a minute 
 before had been over his head. He felt as if she had 
 caught at his heart-strings and given them a pull. 
 They passed on, and went out into the highway by 
 San Rocco ; and he was alone. 
 
 " Maria Santissima ! " he whispered, and began to 
 cry with his face against the brown earth. He sobbed 
 bitterly, and felt deserted, and remembered what a 
 host of boon companions he had had but a few days be- 
 fore. His hands shrank away from the slippery poppy 
 flowers, with their warm petals, and the horrible feel 
 of the little urn in the centre. He wished that he 
 had let Vittorio alone. After all, he only wanted to 
 uncover the man's face, and see who he was; and 
 what harm if he had seen ? 
 
 He heard a step, and again fear came uppermost ; 
 and he raised his head, and looked stealthily out It 
 was the old woman of the cabin, and she came down 
 between the two rows of vines from her door to the 
 path. She held something in one hand with her 
 apron thrown over it ; she looked neither to right nor
 
 238 BY THE TIBER. 
 
 left, but upward ; and her lips were moving, and tears 
 dropped down her face. She was but a common old 
 woman in a faded skirt, and patched corsets, and a 
 cotton neckerchief, with gold rings in her ears, and a 
 silver dagger stuck through her gray hair, but sjie 
 reminded him of a picture he had seen on the wall 
 of some church, he had forgotten where. He had 
 never thought of the picture since the moment when 
 his careless eyes glanced over it ; but now he seemed 
 to see it again, not lacking the nimbus. 
 
 The cool dark vines and the yellow stubble were 
 lifted behind her ; and as she came nearer, he could 
 hear the words that trembled over her lips. She was 
 praying in the words of the Salve Regina, " To thee 
 we cry, poor banished children of Eve. To thee we 
 lift up our sighs, mourning and weeping in this valley 
 of tears ; " and her tears dropped down. 
 
 She reached the tree behind which he was hidden, 
 and with her eyes still uplifted, and her lips still 
 moving, hastily drew her apron from what she held, 
 set something down under the tree, and pushed it 
 into the screening vine-leaves. Then she rose quickly 
 and went back toward the cabin. 
 
 A rude, dark man came to the door and called her. 
 She answered, stopped an instant in the stubble, 
 picked up a few wheat-stalks, furtively wiped her 
 eyes, and went in. 
 
 When she had disappeared, Bruno looked among 
 the weeds, and found there, folded in a large grape- 
 leaf, two slices of gray wheaten bread spread with a 
 ricotta of goat's milk, and in another leaf a little flask 
 of white wine. Only then he knew that he was 
 fainting with hunger and thirst. 
 
 He made the sign of the cross with his red right 
 hand, and ate and drank. It was the saint of the 
 fresco who had fed him, he thought. He could not 
 know that all day long she had watched his progress
 
 IN A WHEAT-FIELD. 239 
 
 by the moving wheat-heads, and that she had given 
 him her own supper, and would go hungry that night. 
 He ate and drank, and did not inquire how she had 
 known, sure now that she would riot tell. Then he 
 sat without thinking, his mind as dim as the twilight 
 air about him ; till again Ids heart swelled suddenly, 
 something rose in his throat, and he wept outright, 
 with his face to the earth. 
 
 The sound of the Ave Maria bells came down from 
 the town, all their voices at once, with a faint tinkle 
 from the mountain-top, floating like a bubble over 
 all. Mingling with these bells he heard a man's 
 whistling. It seemed to be some one coming down 
 from San Eocco, slowly sauntering, and whistling fit- 
 fully. 
 
 With his first start of renewed terror came a some- 
 thing of surprise and attention that did not dare to 
 be hope, but was a piercing doubt. There was some- 
 thing peculiar in this whistling. It was like the call 
 of a bird, followed by a little strain that spoke of 
 safety, not fully played, but in fragments, with short 
 silences. It told of safety, while enjoining caution. 
 
 Bruno crept forward, and peeped out. 
 
 A man stood farther up in the path, gazing at the 
 vines and trees, as if he were a stranger, his hands in 
 his pockets; and as Bruno looked out, he whistled 
 again, and glanced about with seeming carelessness. 
 
 The fugitive's heart gave a bound. He half rose, 
 and, still stooping, ran through the wheat till he came 
 opposite the spot where his comrade stood, gazing in 
 another direction, but with his head intent on the 
 rustling of the grain behind him. 
 
 Bruno whistled softly. It was like the distressed 
 chirping of a little bird, so well imitated that one 
 might have believed that a nest had been disturbed, 
 or that the mother-bird had had a dream of cats and 
 serpents, and had wakened with that little cry.
 
 24C) BY THE TIBER. 
 
 The man in the path, without looking his way, 
 drew nearer to the spot whence the sounds proceeded, 
 and stood, still with his back to it, looking up into a 
 tree. 
 
 " For God's sake, get me out of this ! " whispered 
 Bruno. " Is anybody watching ? " 
 
 " Not that I know of. Follow me, but keep out of 
 sight all you can. If I cough, stop." 
 
 So saying, he sauntered up the path to the gate, 
 Bruno following in the wheat till it ceased, then glid- 
 ing from tree to tree. At the gate his leader paused. 
 There was no person in sight. 
 
 A little open city carriage that had been waiting 
 farther along the road came slowly by. There was a 
 woman in it. It did not stop ; but the two men ran 
 out and got into it while it was in motion. 
 
 For a while nothing was said. They passed San 
 Kocco, and the wine-shop opposite, and took the road 
 to Rome. Then the woman put her hand on Bru- 
 no's arm, and said, " What a fool you were to run 
 away ! Don't you know that you are always safe 
 with us ? " 
 
 " Marco was after me," he said, shaking. " Where 
 is he now ? " 
 
 " He started off to Albano. He did n't seem to 
 know where he was going. Some people said that 
 they thought he was crazy. I should n't wonder if 
 he would kill himself. He was always a gloomy 
 fellow." 
 
 " Is is all out of sight ? " Bruno asked. 
 
 "Everything is arranged," said the other. "We 
 convinced Marco that it was better to let the matter 
 drop. He could do nothing, and he knew it. He 
 will study over it, and he may lose his head, and say 
 something; but you are safe. Say that the fellow 
 attacked you, and that you defended yourself. You 
 were sorry ; and while you were trying to revive Vit-
 
 ON THE SEA. 241 
 
 torio, Marco appeared, and you ran. That is all you 
 know. But nobody will ever ask you." 
 
 Bruno breathed freer. He had certainly been a 
 great fool to run out of the city. Slowly, like water 
 filtering into an empty reservoir, courage ' came back 
 to his heart. Life grew secure, then bright, and his 
 crime excusable. 
 
 To-morrow he would smile, the day after he would 
 laugh, and in a week his nerves would have regained 
 their tone. Another time he would show more pru- 
 dence, and would depend more on his frieuds. 
 
 Moreover, his friends could now depend more se- 
 curely on him, for he was in their power. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 ON THE SEA. 
 
 MARCO had gone to Albano, as Bruno's friend 
 informed him, and he had gone unconsciously, 
 or nearly so. He was, in fact, so sunk in gloomy per- 
 plexity and silent, bitter grief, as to have no con- 
 sciousness of any present save the terrible event of 
 the past night. With a sort of instinct of returning 
 home, he had gone to the station ; but he could not 
 be aware that the habit to which he resigned himself 
 for guidance was not the habit of later years. As in 
 old age, delirium, or death, the soul sometimes strips 
 itself of later years, as of a garment, and goes wander- 
 ing back amid the scenes of its childhood, so he, con- 
 vulsed by a more ruinous blow than any which li;nl 
 yet fallen upon him, gave himself up to a habit of his 
 early youth. He was a native of Nettuno, and had 
 been gardener first in the Villa Borghese by the sea ; 
 and to Nettuno he bent his way when he thought to 
 
 16
 
 242 BY THE TIBER. 
 
 go home. If he had been a younger man, or a less 
 clear-sighted one, he would have been frenzied by 
 what had happened. As it was, he was paralyzed. 
 
 His head hanging forward, his face haggard and 
 vacant, he had gone to the ticket-office because the 
 others went, without looking to see what train was 
 advertised ; and when the man at the window asked 
 him if he wanted third-class, he answered yes. He 
 would have answered the same if he had been offered 
 first-class. He looked out the car-window as they 
 rolled over the campagna, but saw nothing ; or rather 
 he saw only the scenes of the past night. To the 
 present scenes his eyes were sightless. If some faint 
 sense of familiarity was touched, it only helped him 
 to go on. 
 
 Leaving the station at Albano, he took the old 
 familiar western road to the sea. A cart came along 
 presently, and he accepted the driver's invitation to 
 ride. He rode almost to Porto d'Anzio. The driver 
 thought that he was sleepy, and after the first few 
 minutes did not urge him to talk. Marco shut his 
 eyes, dropped his head, and let his mind wander 
 about. It wandered calmly enough, for its passions 
 were benumbed. It reasoned clearly enough, too, and 
 told him that he could do nothing. Of course he 
 could kill Bruno, and meant to the first time they 
 met, or that he chose to seek the fellow. That was a 
 matter of course, and a trifle. But how could he 
 reach the power behind Bruno, and for whom that 
 insignificant fellow acted ? He had an impulse in 
 the night, and again in the early morning, to rush 
 into the palace, and kill all that he met there, not 
 the servants, but the family. But what would he 
 have gained ? They would have killed him perhaps, 
 before he had succeeded in doing anything ; and his 
 class and his cause would have been the worse for 
 his violence. If he could have died at the head of
 
 ON THE SEA. 243 
 
 a conquering army doing battle for the poor, then he 
 would have gone to death with all the fire of youth ; 
 but he had learned how ruinous to the principle he 
 would serve are all these ineffectual outbreaks. They 
 were worse than useless. Either be strong enough to 
 overset all, or do not move. 
 
 The cart stopped. 
 
 " Are you going to Porto d'Anzio ? " the driver 
 asked. 
 
 Marco opened his eyes and knew where he was. 
 
 He answered in the affirmative as he got down 
 from the cart. The man offered him some bread 
 and wine. He accepted them, gave the driver some 
 money, and went forward on foot. He was glad that 
 he was not going to Villa Frattina, or to meet any 
 one whom he knew. He wanted to be alone and 
 silent while his mind was wandering in this laby- 
 rinth. 
 
 It was now afternoon, and the slanting sun-rays 
 were deepening in hue. He struck into a shady ave- 
 nue, and, avoiding Anzio, went toward Nettuno, with- 
 out knowing what he should do there. The avenue 
 was long and still. He met a carriage or two, but no 
 foot-passengers. All the town was in the piazza 
 where the band was playing. He stopped a moment, 
 and seemed to listen to the music, then went onward 
 to the road that runs along the seaside, where the 
 town ends, and Nature resumes her empire. 
 
 Marco went down to the wide flat beach outside 
 the town. His manhood was up in arms, all engaged 
 in a moral struggle ; and his childhood, rising like a 
 flower that the tempest has swept the dry leaves 
 away from, lured him into the old, childish path ; as 
 when he went down there, long ago after a storm, to 
 gather shells that the sea had left, or bits of precious 
 marble, or tiny crabs. 
 
 The sea was of a bright blue, all sparkling with
 
 244 BY THE TIB E It. 
 
 ripples, and came in in long rollers of shifting hues 
 and shadows, and broke softly in a narrow fringe of 
 foam on the beach, or tossed and caught prismatic 
 colors against the high rocks farther along, where the 
 shore makes its long, fading curve toward the far-off 
 promontory of the Siren. 
 
 There was a boat near by coming toward him, pro- 
 pelled by short strokes ; and there were two men in 
 it. They pushed up on the beach ; and while one 
 held the boat in its place with his oar, the other 
 stepped out into the shallow water, and shouldered a 
 fishing net. There were bright fishes glittering in 
 the sunlight at the bottom of the net, which swung 
 to and fro as they leaped. The sun showed only 
 a spark on the horizon, but a faint blush lay on the 
 sea. 
 
 Marco went down to the water as he saw the man 
 in the boat putting off again, when his companion had 
 gone away across the road, and asked for his boat for 
 an hour. 
 
 The man stopped rowing, but looked at him doubt- 
 fully. 
 
 " I will pay you in advance," Marco said, " and 
 leave a security in your hands. In an hour or two 
 I will come back here with the boat. I only want 
 a row." 
 
 The man looked at the money offered him, and 
 came back. He took his net with the fishes in it on 
 his shoulder, as the other had done, and went home- 
 ward on foot, telling Marco where his house was 
 on the shore, half-way to Anzio, and asking him to 
 leave the boat there when he was done with it. 
 
 Marco nodded and rowed himself away from the 
 shore. 
 
 The fishing-boats were going out from Porto d' An- 
 zio, each with its two pointed sails spread, looking 
 like a flock of gray moths hovering over the water.
 
 ON THE SEA. 245 
 
 Soft in the soft air, they skimmed lightly out to drag 
 their nets all night under the stars, and come back at 
 dawn with their glittering freight. The light-house 
 shone like a red-gold star in the west ; and far out to 
 the eastward, at the other horn of the sea-crescent, 
 the promontory of the Siren floated in a violet mist. 
 It was like a woman cast down on her face, her limbs 
 outstretched, the whole outline tapering to the ankle 
 and foot. Her arms were folded under her face, her 
 dishevelled hair fell over them, her head was toward 
 the sea. The figure lay as the deserted Ariadne 
 might have fallen when she had seen her traitorous 
 lover's sail go down below the horizon. 
 
 Marco glanced over it all as unmoved as a mirror 
 which reflects indifferently whatever passes before it; 
 more unmoved, indeed, for he did not even brighten 
 outwardly. He darkened instead in the midst of this 
 scene, so full of peaceful splendor. The rough roads, 
 the rattling train, the dark, brigand-haunted, malaria- 
 poisoned forest he had passed through had been 
 fitted to his mood ; but this clear light and serene joy, 
 on which his fate stood out black and distorted, 
 stirred the sleeping fury in him. 
 
 He began to row hard, straining at the oars, and 
 muttering. All his baffled hopes and hates and 
 loves, all his imprisoned and despairing aspirations, 
 all the rage which years of self-control had kept mute 
 within him, biding its time, began to gather and rock 
 to and fro in his soul as the water rocked under his 
 boat-keel. 
 
 It had never occurred to Marco to appeal to the 
 law. He despised it as much as Bruno did, though 
 from a different cause. He well knew that the law 
 would never punish the great for a crime against the 
 small He had never looked for justice, save from 
 Garibaldi, or from his own strong hand. The law 
 meant to him nothing but a cunning labyrinth by
 
 246 BY THE TIBER. 
 
 which the powerful escape the punishment of their 
 crimes, and in which the weak are hopelessly lost. 
 There was no help anywhere. " They destroy every- 
 thing beautiful ; Felicita, Italia, Vittorio ' 
 
 He raised an oar and struck at the smiling, dim- 
 pling sea, as if it were a face that mocked him, 
 struck with a fury that nearly overset his boat. A cry 
 like the roar of a lion broke from his lips, and rolled 
 across the water. 
 
 Why had he not killed that woman when she was 
 in his power, and so struck one blow, if but a futile 
 one ? Why had he let those people pass him, day 
 after day, in their insolent prosperity, and go un- 
 harmed ? 
 
 He leaned and clutched at the waters, and they 
 escaped his grasp ; he shouted his curses, and shook 
 his clenched hands backward to the shore ; foam fell 
 from his lips. 
 
 He was killing himself, just as Felicita's father had 
 done long ago ; and he knew it, and did not care. 
 
 And meanwhile the long twilight had faded, and 
 it was deep night. The lighthouse burned steadily 
 in the dark west, the stars burned tremulously in 
 the dark sky, and faint firefly lights showed where the 
 fleet of fishers hung over the live treasures of the 
 deep. 
 
 And then a soft, ineffable splendor shone around 
 the eastern mountains, but so faintly that the Milky 
 Way lay unblenched before it. It was as though the 
 melancholy spirit of darkness had looked out from 
 under her dusky eyelids, now that all the world was 
 asleep. Scarcely parting the heavy shadows, she came, 
 holding aloft the pallid crescent of the dying moon for 
 a lamp. A flickering path of silver ran across the 
 peaceful waters, and crossed a flickering golden path 
 that stretched from a southern star. A whiter white- 
 ness shone in the face of Marco Bandini, lying in-
 
 ON THE SEA. 247 
 
 sensible in the bottom of the boat that idly tossed 
 upon the water. The hours wore on, and the light 
 breeze that precedes the day began to give its delicate 
 touches here and there. The east whitened, and then 
 warmed with ruddy gold. 
 
 Marco opened his eyes, raised himself painfully, 
 and looked about, and remembered all. He looked 
 at the water, and wondered if he should throw him- 
 self into it, and so end all He looked off to the 
 dim sea-line beyond the Sirens, and wondered if he 
 would row toward that, and take his chance of meeting 
 a ship which would bear him to some other country. 
 He could never go back to this accursed shore. 
 
 There was a small cloud over the east that was a 
 bright pink with the sunrise. It hung there in a 
 motionless ecstasy with the coming day. The water 
 reflected it, and seemed to kiss it, dyeing its little 
 ripples red with the touch. Its image passed un- 
 heeded over Marco's wandering eyes, then presently 
 touched some chord that gave a faint dream of a 
 sound. He did not heed it ; but the sweet murmur 
 continued till he looked up at the cloud, with just a 
 cold idle thought that it was as red as a rose. 
 
 Eosa ! 
 
 " Little Eosa ! " The words came in a hoarse whis- 
 per, and all his strained soul melted as he uttered 
 them. Where was she ? What would she do without 
 him ! 
 
 He took up his oars, and rowed backward to the 
 shore, and tears rose to his eyes, and dropped down, 
 one by one. He sobbed now and then, a sob as pitiful 
 as that of a lost child that is tired of weeping, yet 
 cannot help but sob. Poor little Eosa ! He would 
 not leave her to weep. If he was good for nothing to 
 himself, he was good for her. It was because she was 
 hidden unseen in his heart that he had not died that 
 night, he thought.
 
 248 BY THE TIBER. 
 
 He looked at the palace on the shore, at the trees 
 behind, the long beach, and the solitary sanctuary of 
 the Madonna set close to the water ; and scenes of 
 his childhood came back to him. The water had not 
 been so high when he was a boy, and a wide beach 
 ran round outside the palace walls where now a bar- 
 rier of stone-work had been built to preserve the 
 foundations from the gnawing waves. In those days 
 the procession that carried the image of the Madonua 
 on her festa had walked quite round the beach where 
 now the waves rolled perpetually. He was one of a 
 choir of boys who sang as they walked, and he wore 
 a little white cotta ironed into herring-bone stripes. 
 The gray beach was gay with color ; for the peasant- 
 women wore their scarlet robes with gold-embroidered 
 sashes fringed with little silver or gold bells, a dress 
 fit for a princess, and brighter even than Monsignor 
 the Bishop's cope of gold cloth. He remembered the 
 keen Arab faces of these women ; he remembered how 
 the little shells crunched under his feet as he walked 
 singing before the Madonna, and how the sea came up 
 the shore and sang with them, and was never out of 
 time or tune, and how the men out in the boats took 
 off their hats as the procession passed along to the 
 sanctuary. He remembered how his eyes had roved 
 about the smooth, firm sand in search of what the 
 tide had left, fragments of many-colored. Egyptian 
 marble, bits of red porphyry, dark serpentine with its 
 tiny blocks of lighter green, and the dimmed sunshine 
 of antique yellow. Seeing a bit of lapis-lazuli that 
 showed its splendid blue under the pearly lid of a 
 shell, he had started out of the procession, caught 
 it up, and returned to his place, without ceasing to 
 sing. 
 
 The boat touched the beach, and its owner stood 
 there wondering and displeased. Marco made some 
 excuse, and paid him liberally. Then he went to the
 
 ON THE SEA. 249 
 
 piazza, and got into the diligence that was about 
 starting for Albano. He was quite alone. At this 
 season people were coming to the sea, not going 
 away. 
 
 They drove off through the wood by which he had 
 come the night before. The driver, finding that his 
 passenger did not wish to talk, dropped the curtain 
 between them, and solaced himself with a cigar. 
 
 Marco was saying the rosary ; and since he had no 
 beads, he said them on his ten fingers. At the Our 
 Father he clasped his hands. He was praying for 
 Vittorio. 
 
 At Albano he took the railway to Valmontone, and 
 from there he went home on foot across the vines and 
 fields by which he and Vittorio had passed two days 
 before. 
 
 When he reached the old road, Rosa stood at the 
 villa gate watching for him. She uttered a cry, and 
 came to meet him. 
 
 " Papa ! why did n't you come home yesterday ? 
 I waited all day, and I would n't go back at night, but 
 stayed here." 
 
 Then, seeing his face, she added, " What is the 
 matter ? " 
 
 " I 'm not very well. I think I may have a touch 
 of fever," he said, and leaned on her shoulder. 
 
 Silently she supported him across the road, and 
 in at the gate. When they reached the crumbling 
 Janus, he staggered and fell against it. 
 
 " Don't cry ! " he said faintly. " Go and get me 
 some wine. It 's nothing." And he thought : " I can 
 do nothing, because she must not know."
 
 250 BY THE TIBER. 
 
 CHAPTEE XXIV. 
 
 UNDER THE PASSION-FLOWERS. 
 
 'T^O those of her friends who wondered that she 
 JL should remain in Rome so late, the Countess 
 Belvedere explained that she was waiting to see some 
 friends from the East who could not possibly stop to 
 visit her out of town. Her dear Gabriella had been 
 for a long time in India, where her husband, the Mar- 
 quis de Massy, had a French government appoint- 
 ment. Now the Marquis was sent to London, as an 
 attache of the French embassy, and Gabriella was 
 obliged to go across the world from east to west 
 almost as rapidly as the sun did. 
 
 The Countess was very circumstantial in her ac- 
 count, and even told the whole story to persons who 
 never asked her anything. There is nothing like the 
 frankness and clearness of people who have a great 
 deal of mischief to conceal. They are always pre- 
 pared. It is only honest people who can afford 
 to refuse to give reasons to everybody for their 
 conduct. 
 
 To her father, who did not recollect to have ever 
 heard of this suddenly beloved friend since the days 
 when ,?he was his daughter's schoolmate, and not her 
 favorite one, another reason was given. Gabriella 
 had a large collection of Indian shawls, and the Coun- 
 tess hoped to persuade her to sell one at a bargain ; 
 and she had heaps of Indian embroideries, and had 
 been especially commissioned to bring to her friend a 
 gold-colored crepe shawl, heavy with embroidery, of 
 which the Countess proposed to make a tunic which 
 should be richer than cloth of gold. With all these 
 toilet splendors in prospect, one could bear Borne in 
 August
 
 UNDER THE PASSION-FLOWERS. 251 
 
 These travellers from the Orient arrived the after- 
 noon of the day on which Vittorio went to Palestrina. 
 They were too much fatigued to leave their hotel that 
 evening ; but the next day Gabriella was to spend 
 with her friend, and the Marquis would come to 
 dinner. In the evening they were to pursue their 
 journey. 
 
 The Countess Belvedere had a bottle of chloral on 
 her toilet-table. She very seldom took it; for her 
 youth and health rendered it unnecessary as yet. 
 She took some after her interview with Marco, hav- 
 ing first had a hot bath, or rather having had a hot 
 bath given her almost forcibly by her maid. For 
 Marco's treatment had thrown her into such a fury, 
 that she was near breaking all the mirrors and win- 
 dows in the palace. That that beast, as she called 
 him, had received any provocation, or had any ex- 
 cuse, she did not for an instant own. 
 
 The hot bath and the chloral were not without 
 their effect; and, before Marco had reached Alba- 
 no, she was sound asleep, soothed by her faithful 
 Lucia, who sat by her repeating that she was not in 
 the least to blame for what had happened, and that 
 she need not be in the least anxious about the fu- 
 ture. Bruno would be found, there were scouts 
 out in search of him; and if, by ill luck, he and 
 Marco should meet, why, he would at least tell no 
 tales. 
 
 With all these soothing cares, the Countess Belve- 
 dere slept like an innocent babe, and woke refreshed. 
 While Marco was passing through the poisonous 
 macckia to Porto d'Anzio, and Bruno was crawling 
 away from the reapers in the Agro Palestrinese, 
 Madama Adelaide was at her morning toilet. A 
 rose-colored muslin, a faint touch of rouge to her 
 cheeks, and a cup of strong coffee brought a look 
 of life into her pallid face; and when her friend
 
 252 BY THE TIBER. 
 
 arrived just after midday, she was apparently quite 
 herself. 
 
 The two ladies breakfasted alone, and, after half an 
 hour's chat, retired to their rooms for a nap, both of 
 them having drunk wine enough to make lying down 
 quite as easy as sitting up. The Countess, who was 
 still a little romantic, did not smoke, and her friend, 
 who was past romance, enjoyed her cigarettes in 
 private. 
 
 At five o'clock they went out for a drive, going up 
 Monte Mario for the air, and at seven they came 
 back. The Marquis had not yet come. He was to 
 bring with him, to make a fourth at the table, a dis- 
 tinguished Monsignore from the Vatican, who was 
 glad of this opportunity of seeing people just from 
 the East who could give him the latest news, with all 
 those particulars and corrections which one cannot 
 hope to have from the journals, nor from less well- 
 informed correspondents and travellers. 
 
 "And now let us go into the garden till they 
 come," the visitor said. " I recollect that it used to 
 be charming here." 
 
 The Countess had not invited her guest into the 
 garden, and had tried to lead her thoughts elsewhere ; 
 but she assented readily to the proposal, and gayly 
 led the way out through the broad glass doors that 
 stood wide open, and across the black and white 
 paved terrace where she had sat and known that Vit- 
 torio was watching her through the laurels. 
 
 They walked about among the flowers, talking 
 gossip. 
 
 The garden was looking a little neglected that day. 
 Two days' inattention at such a season tells. Nothing 
 had been watered, and the opening flowers of to-day 
 had pushed yesterday's flowers aside. The grass un- 
 der the camellias was strewn with blossoms that were 
 still fresh, though fallen. They had no stems, but
 
 UNDER THE PASSION-FLOWERS. 253 
 
 the petals were bright. The colors were varied : some 
 were white, others red, others mixed red and white. 
 A pink carpet was spread under the oleanders, and 
 the rose-trees stood in a rosy morning cloud of piled- 
 up petals. 
 
 " What a profusion of flowers ! " exclaimed the 
 visitor. " You must have a good gardener." 
 
 " Excellent ! " was the reply. 
 
 They walked on. Here and there, near the walls, 
 a green lemon or a wild mandarin had dropped on 
 the path. 
 
 " There is quite a little forest of oranges," said the 
 visitor, pointing across the garden and turning her 
 steps in that direction. 
 
 " The camellias are rather fine," said the Countess 
 hastily. " Don't you want one to put in your hair ? " 
 
 The lady returned. 
 
 " If you will give me a white one," she said. " That 
 farther tree is white. But where is the gardener, 
 dear ? You will hurt your fingers." 
 
 " Not at all. I like to gather flowers." The Countess 
 pulled a low branch toward her, and was about break- 
 ing one of the beautiful white flowers with which it 
 was thickly set, when suddenly she cried out, and let 
 the branch swing back. 
 
 " There was a bee in it, and I believe that it has 
 stung me," she said, her face very red, as she pressed 
 her finger in her handkerchief. And she hurried away, 
 leaving the camellia ungathered. She had seen a dark 
 red stain on one of its waxen petals. 
 
 She followed toward the oranges unconsciously, her 
 face still red, her finger still held in her handkerchief, 
 her friend pitying her volubly ; till, finally, they found 
 out that the bee had not stung her after all. 
 
 " But what is the matter, my dear ? " the visitor 
 said; for the Countess, finding herself beside tho 
 oranges, stopped abruptly, her color fading.
 
 254 BY THE TIBER. 
 
 " Oh, nothing ! But, really, I had such a start. 
 I am afraid of bees." 
 
 The other, who thought her friend affected and un- 
 interesting, tripped around the orange-trees with an 
 exclamation of pleasure. 
 
 " Passion-flowers ! There is nothing that I like so 
 much." And she began to pull one after another toward 
 her with her slender gem-laden lingers, and to look 
 into their mournful faces to see which was the finest. 
 
 The Countess, after hesitating one instant, pressed 
 her lips together tightly, and followed, standing at a 
 little distance. 
 
 This retired spot, like a room with a roof taken off, 
 and an orange-tree for a door, had a sombre and mys- 
 terious air. Poor Vittorio had called it the Chapel, 
 and had banished from it every flower but the purple 
 and white of oranges and passion-vine. In a rough 
 niche in the wall he had set a small bust of some 
 young unknown person that the Countess had said 
 resembled him. This face looked out through the 
 leaves. Two sides of the wall were draped with the 
 vine ; the third was bare, and had been meant to 
 hold white jasmine. Under this bare wall the earth 
 was newly turned. The setting sun shot across the 
 top of the wall without entering, only a dull red glow 
 falling into the shade ; and the pointed leaves of the 
 aloes set along the top of the wall seemed dripping 
 in that light. 
 
 " The very largest one, by far the finest, is just an 
 inch out of my reach, Adele," her friend said. " I am 
 quite longing for that. As you like to gather flowers, 
 cannot you break it for me ? You are taller than I. 
 I am sure there is no bee here." 
 
 The Countess Belvedere smiled strangely. The 
 other was looking up at the flower, and did not ob- 
 serve her face. She stepped forward, set her foot 
 where her knee had touched the ground before Marco
 
 UNDER THE PASSION-FLOWERS. 255 
 
 that morning, and stretched her arm for the flower. 
 It grew at the end of a wandering vine that came out 
 on the bare wall. 
 
 But her movement was too hasty. She snatched 
 violently upward, and, feeling her foot sink in the soft 
 earth, shrieked out, and in trying to extricate herself, 
 fell at full length on Vittorio's grave. 
 
 The servants ran, her maid foremost among them. 
 Sh3 was lifted, arid helped, half fainting, into the 
 house, where she sat shivering, and trying to drink 
 the wine they brought her. Her eyes were staring as 
 if she had seen a ghost. 
 
 " My dear, what is the matter ? " her friend cried. 
 " I caunot imagine why you look so terrified. Are 
 you hurt in any way ? " 
 
 " It is nothing. I am a fool." The Countess rose. 
 " Is my dress all dust ? The truth is, staying in 
 Rome has made me nervous. Eoman air always does 
 make me nervous, especially in the summer. Do see 
 if I am all covered with dust." 
 
 She went to a long mirror, and stood turning her- 
 self about before it, and her maid shook out her 
 dress, a lace-worked black grenadine made over red 
 satin, and assured her that there was not a speck 
 on it. 
 
 " But my shoe and stocking ? " she said, and, seating 
 herself, put her foot out, without looking at it, her 
 face turned away. 
 
 The girl removed the small black satin slipper, and 
 passed her hands over. the black silk stockings wrought 
 with red silks. 
 
 " There is nothing, Contessa, not a speck anywhere," 
 she said. 
 
 " I have half a mind to go away with you to-night, 
 Gabriella," the Countess said abruptly. " I have only 
 waited for you to come, and I meant to leave im- 
 mediately."
 
 256 BY THE TIBER. 
 
 "It would be delightful, my dear, to have your 
 company as far as Florence." 
 
 " I will go. There are yet almost three hours. In 
 three hours one can prepare to go anywhere." 
 
 The gentlemen came shortly after, and there was a 
 very bright little dinner, during which the politics of 
 the East were thoroughly discussed by the two gentle- 
 men, and the fashions of the East by the two ladies. 
 
 Three hours after the Countess Belvedere was on 
 her way to Florence. 
 
 CHAPTEE XXV. 
 
 ROBACCIA DI ROMA. 
 
 VALEEIA took quite as much pains to conceal 
 her experiences of the night as the Countess 
 Belvedere did. As the stroke of six rang from a 
 neighboring belfry, she slipped, shivering, into bed. 
 When coffee was brought to her, she gave her orders 
 for the day as usual. 
 
 " Lock the door well after you when you go out," 
 she said ; and was about to add that she would rest a 
 little longer, when the woman asked her if she had 
 slept well. 
 
 " I have n't waked once," she answered, taking 
 alarm. " I am going to get up directly. Is the bath 
 ready ? " 
 
 When the house door shut, she rose and went to 
 the window to make sure that her servant had really 
 gone out, then to the door to see if it was securely 
 locked. She had locked her study door before ring- 
 ing the bell. 
 
 But sleep refused to come. There was that confu-
 
 ROBACCIA DI ROMA. 257 
 
 sion of utter weariness and utter sleeplessness which 
 is a torment. She had but two clear ideas : one, that 
 she must conceal the events of the night from every- 
 body with as much secrecy as if she had herself been 
 an actor in them ; the other, that she must leave the 
 house she was in as soon as possible. 
 
 It being Saturday, her servant, a woman sent to 
 her by Miss Pendleton, had gone to the Campo di 
 Fiori to buy fruit and vegetables for the week, and 
 she would be away two hours ; but repose in her 
 absence was out of the question. Every moment 
 Valeria fancied that some one was at the street door, 
 or climbing in at the study window. She was ready 
 to imagine anything. She had a right to expect any- 
 thing. But what she could never have imagined 
 was how far more powerful than violence, how per- 
 fectly able to dispense with violence, are malice, 
 subtlety, and cowardice combined. Such people as 
 she had to deal with are the pet children of Satan, 
 and he teaches them his finest diplomacy. They 
 are smiling ; they are fond of the society of respecta- 
 ble people ; they are eminently prudent ; they can 
 talk, at need, with such delicacy that their conscience 
 might be a speckless lily, and their heart a thornless 
 rose, both fresh with the dews of innocence. Above 
 all, they are pious. 
 
 Valeria had felt herself growing cramped with 
 terror, afraid to move or to resolve upon anything. 
 She threw the fear away. 
 
 "It is best to be silent," she thought; "but my 
 silence shall not be a nightmare." 
 
 Opening her study door, she put back the curtains, 
 and leaned for a moment into the garden, just as she 
 might have done if nothing had ever met her glance 
 there but flowers and fountains. 
 
 Then, seating herself, she wrote a full account of 
 all that she had known in the past few months. The 
 17
 
 258 BY THE TIBER. 
 
 initials only of the names were given ; but the cir- 
 cumstances rendered them unmistakable. 
 
 This paper was securely sealed and enclosed with 
 directions to a friend in England. The person to 
 whom it was sent was to preserve it carefully sealed, 
 and in case Valeria should die without having recalled 
 it, was to open and print it. She knew that no scru- 
 ples nor influence on the part of the person to whom 
 she confided her message would interfere with her 
 directions being followed out to the letter. 
 
 She promised to send later certain written testi- 
 monies to the truth of fragmentary parts of her re- 
 cital. It would be easy to persuade the persons 
 concerned to write and sign these testimonies for 
 her, as they would seem to be trifles ; and she could 
 make some laughing pretence of mystery which would 
 convince them that there 'was no mystery whatever. 
 And, insignificant as these documents would seem to 
 be, they would be as important as the little fragment 
 that finishes a broken statue, or the broken letter 
 which completes an inscription, neither letter nor 
 fragment having any sense, except so applied. 
 
 This done, she dressed herself and went out to mail 
 her letter, without waiting for her servant. 
 
 There was a head peeping out around the corner of 
 her house as she came down the street from the direc- 
 tion opposite the door ; and when she turned to the 
 stair, she saw a man standing at the head of it, the 
 door being shut. 
 
 He was one of those men called brigands, to distin- 
 guish their dress ; perhaps, also, to distinguish their 
 characters. He wore leather leggings, a peaked hat, 
 and a faded red vest. His face was thin and dark, 
 and might have been called beautiful but for its ex- 
 pression of sombre cruelty. His black hair fell on 
 his shoulders ; the large black eyes, which devoured 
 his face, were wide open, and fixed upon Valeria
 
 ROBACCIA DI ROMA, 259 
 
 in an unwinking stare. Not a feature of his face 
 moved. 
 
 " What do you want there ? " she called out, stand- 
 ing in the street and looking up at him. 
 
 He neither stirred nor answered. 
 
 " Come down ! " she said. " It is my house, and I 
 wish to go in. Come down ! " 
 
 He slowly descended the stairs without removing 
 his eyes from her face, coming step by step, as though 
 he counted in advancing. There was something chill- 
 ing in his impassibility, and in those large black 
 eyes, that seemed to be all black. 
 
 "What do you want?" she asked, looking steadily 
 at him, as she would have looked at a wild beast, 
 whom she could not fly from. 
 
 He growled out some inarticulate reply, and passed 
 her by, turning his eyes sideways as he passed. He 
 wore a handkerchief wrapped loosely around his left 
 hand. 
 
 It was hard not to turn, not to run up the stairs, 
 not to betray any sign of fear ; but she succeeded in 
 commanding her muscles till they touched the bell. 
 Then she rang a peal that brought her woman in- 
 stantly to the door. 
 
 "Come out here quickly and look at that man going 
 up Via Claudia," she said. " He was standing at the 
 door when I reached the house. Have you seen him ? 
 Had he rung ? " 
 
 " No, Signora. No one has rung. And I would n't 
 have opened the door to one like that." 
 
 "See that you do not! Never open the door to 
 any person whom you do not know." 
 
 " What do you think he was here for?" the woman 
 asked. 
 
 " Chi lo sa ! Perhaps he wanted to sell goat's milk. 
 I recollect to have seen two or three fcicb. men as that 
 with a flock of goats in front of a large solitary house 
 outside the gate of St. John Laterau."
 
 260 BY THE TIBER. 
 
 It was scarcely possible to write that day ; and 
 Valeria went down to see Miss Cromo in the after- 
 noon, and found her very gay and amusing. 
 
 " And by the way," she said at length, " how do 
 your mysterious friends get along ? " 
 
 " My mysterious friends ? What can you mean ? " 
 
 " Why, those very improper people you told me of 
 some time ago," Miss Cromo replied. " Those people 
 whose names you would n't tell." 
 
 " And whose names you tried so hard to find out," 
 added Valeria. 
 
 Miss Cromo ceased to smile. " Well, how are they 
 getting along ?" 
 
 " You ought to know better than I," was the reply. 
 "You proposed to put some one on their track. I 
 really cannot tell you any news of them." 
 
 "You do very well not to occupy yourself with 
 them," Miss Cromo said sharply. " It is n't nice for 
 a lady to know about such things." 
 
 " I know nothing of such things except what is 
 forced upon my notice," Valeria replied. " I believe 
 that the most of my knowledge of such subjects has 
 been communicated to me by you. No one ever hears 
 me tell such stories. You know perfectly well why 
 I mentioned this one to you, solely in order to have 
 your advice on a subject which I saw you were 
 familiarly acquainted with." 
 
 She rose as she spoke, and took a very cold leave 
 before Miss Cromo had provided herself with a retort. 
 Returning to her own apartment, she found a visitor 
 waiting for her. She was somewhat surprised at see- 
 ing this lady, whom she had met several times at 
 Casa Passarina, but had scarcely exchanged a dozen 
 words with ; and still more surprised at finding her- 
 self greeted with the cordiality of an old friend. 
 
 Any companJFwas welcome, however ; and she was, 
 on the whole, rather pleased, knowing nothing against
 
 ROBACCIA DI ROMA. 261 
 
 the lady, except that she was a little too cordial and 
 friendly for such a very slight acquaintance. 
 
 Mrs. Morton was an Englishwoman of middle age, 
 who was divorced from her husband, and lived as' 
 companion with a French lady, resident in Rome. 
 She was agreeable-looking and pleasant-mannered, 
 though a physiognomist would have called her bad- 
 tempered. She was exceedingly useful in question- 
 ing servants as to the affairs of their employers, and 
 in doing mysterious little errands for certain friends 
 of hers; two of which errands she had to do this 
 afternoon. One of them was to come to Valeria and 
 find out what she knew, or would say, about the 
 Countess Belvedere. 
 
 This woman was very pious. She had a rosary on 
 her bed-post, a Madonna in a clialct, and a shell of 
 holy water on the wall. She went to Novenas, asked 
 people to pray for her, and went frequently to con- 
 fession and Communion. One might accuse one's self 
 of a feeling of curiosity to hear one of her confessions, 
 after having known some of her doings. 
 
 When her errand to Valeria was done, she was to 
 go to a certain lodging-house with the pretence of 
 looking at rooms for some one else, and while exam- 
 ining the rooms, was to ask the mistress of the house 
 a good many questions about a lady boarding there. 
 Nothing was to be said against her; but the questions 
 were such as could not fail to suggest suspicions of 
 the person mentioned. 
 
 That was all. 
 
 Satan caricatures God in all his works ; and as in 
 the Church there is a communion of saints, which is 
 defined as a communion of all holy persons in all 
 holy things, so in the church of Satan there is a com- 
 munion of all evil persons in all evil things ; and 
 this communion is a sort of Freeinadttty. The uiem- 
 t>ers understand and aid each other.
 
 262 BY THE TIBER. 
 
 "Only tell me a person's name, and I will find 
 out everything about her," this woman had said; 
 and she said it with an air of pride. She had lost 
 the instinct of honor. 
 
 When her second errand should be done, Mrs. 
 Morton would be just in time to go to Sant' Andrea 
 delle Fratte to the Novena which had begun for the 
 Nativity of the Blessed Virgin, where, with every 
 appearance of devotion, she would repeat her saluta- 
 tion to the Mother of the Love of God incarnate with 
 the same lips that had a moment before insinuated a 
 calumny, inspired by the father of lies. 
 
 Mrs. Morton began to compliment Valeria. She 
 was full of smiles and friendly inquiries ; she ad- 
 mired her apartment, and begged to be allowed to see 
 the whole of it. 
 
 Valeria began to stiffen. " This woman is a little 
 too sweet, and too much at her ease," she thought. 
 And she ignored her request. 
 
 " You must have a view into the Mitella gardens," 
 Mrs. Morton said presently, in no wise abashed at the 
 tacit refusal. "Your house is partly inside the wall, 
 is if not?" 
 
 " Yes ;' there is one window on the garden." 
 
 " How charming ! I have always wanted a house 
 with a garden adjoining. Even if it is n't one's 
 own, that scarcely makes a difference. To be able 
 to look at flowers and fountains, is about the same 
 as to own them. I suppose you spend a great deal of 
 time at that window. Do you ever see the Countess ? " 
 
 "Very seldom. Naturally, when I see people in 
 the garden, I draw back. And, indeed, though I sit 
 near the window with my writing, I do not look out 
 much, except when it is too dark to write, or when I 
 want to rest m^eyes for a moment. It rests one's 
 eyes to look w green. The ancient stone-cutters 
 looked at an emerald when their eyes were tired ; I 
 look at a tree."
 
 ROBACCIA DI ROMA. 263 
 
 " Does the Countess please you ?" asked the visitor. 
 
 " I do not know her." 
 
 " I mean, do her looks please you ? Do you think ^ 
 her handsome ? " 
 
 " She would be called a handsome woman. I saw 
 her once or twice in Casa Passarina." 
 
 " How I should like to look into the garden I 
 Would you allow me ? " 
 
 " Why do you not go to the Casino ? " Valeria said. 
 " They would probably let you go into the gardens. 
 I presume that the family are away." 
 
 Anger flickered in the visitor's pale blue eyes, 
 and distorted her smile ; but she strove not to lose 
 her sweetness. 
 
 " It did n't occur to me that the request was an 
 improper one, I am so very open about everything," 
 she said. " I never minded having ladies go to any 
 part of my house when I had one. I never conceal 
 anything." 
 
 "Then perhaps," Valeria said smilingly, "since 
 you are so frank, you will tell me what it is you 
 wish to find out about the Countess Belvedere and her 
 garden. I own that I fail to see why either should 
 interest you." 
 
 " Nothing in the world ! What should I wish to 
 find out ? What should make you so suspicious ? " 
 
 The visitor floundered in protestations, half angry, 
 half apologetic, and, not being interrupted, rose to go. 
 
 " So happy to have seen you ! " said Valeria, ring- 
 ing the bell. 
 
 She rang it again when her visitor had gone out 
 with a bitter-sweet smile upon her face, and gave 
 orders that Mrs. Morton was never, on any account, 
 to be admitted again. 
 
 " There 's another enemy for me !" she sighed, when 
 she was alone. "I shall have all the canaylia of 
 lioine upon my shoulders."
 
 264 BY THE TIBER. 
 
 I 
 
 CHAPTER XXVI. 
 
 THE CLICK OF A LOCK. 
 
 IT was September, and Valeria was feeling very 
 unwell, without once suspecting what was the 
 matter with her. Fever comes so insidiously some- 
 times as not to be perceived. The weather was very 
 hot, the summer had been an extraordinary strain of 
 heat from the beginning of May, with scarcely a 
 shower, or a merciful tramontana to temper the 
 scorching rays of the sun. One can stay very well 
 in Rome through July ; but after that the system 
 becomes prostrated. 
 
 She could eat nothing but fruit. Now and then 
 her servant persuaded her to taste of something else ; 
 but she turned from it in disgust. She struggled to 
 write, and the pen dropped from her hand. Her 
 trembling fingers could scarcely form the letters. 
 
 And so September passed. 
 
 Bruno was back in the garden of Villa Mitella, 
 swaggering and laughing as usual. He knew that 
 Marco lay dangerously ill of fever, and he felt safe 
 for the present. 
 
 Valeria always protested to herself that she did not 
 know where Vittorio was, and that he must have 
 found employment elsewhere. She refused to look 
 at the thought that she had refused to utter. She 
 scarcely ever went out now, and never alone. When 
 she did go out, there was always some of that com- 
 pany near her ; but their manner was changed. Their 
 air was serious and threatening, but they never in- 
 truded too much. 
 
 The cool evenings came, and the sun, from being an
 
 THE CLICK OF A LOCK. 265 
 
 enemy, became a friend. It was pleasant, at early 
 morning or toward evening, to stand in. the yellow 
 light of it at that season. But Valeria was no better. 
 And now she could not sit up all day, and she tired of 
 the few visitors who began to come. 
 
 Sometimes she thought of sending for Dr. Kraus. 
 She felt nervous and irritable ; the fever was slowly 
 consuming her, and her strength slowly diminishing, 
 and she did not know what was the matter. 
 
 One day, just before sunset, a visitor came in, a 
 very good person, who did not interest, and always 
 vexed her a little. He was one of those persons who 
 is always going, and never goes. When his visit was 
 over, it still took him a great while to get out of his 
 chair. He made little feints, half rising, smoothing 
 his hat, and always settling again at a word. Then, 
 once on his feet, he would stand, wait, turn half away, 
 act as if he wished to say something and was trying 
 to recollect what, till one longed to give him a push 
 out of the room. 
 
 With all that, he was a good man in a negative 
 way, and one liked him for the first fifteen or twenty 
 minutes of his visit, and wished to be very civil 
 
 There had been some rain early in the day, and it 
 had cleared in the afternoon, and now, at sunset, a 
 sharp tramontana was growing, and becoming, from 
 cool intermittent puffs, a steady cold wind. The 
 west window of the reception-room was open, and the 
 wind came in and blew across Valeria's shoulders. 
 But her visitor was now standing, and had turned and 
 twisted to such an extent that it seemed impossible 
 that he would not presently edge toward the door. 
 If she should rise prematurely, it might be all to 
 begin over again. If she should close the window 
 and ring for a shawl, he might sit down. She meant 
 to wait till he should get two or three steps toward the 
 door, then rise briskly with an " Oh, you are going ? "
 
 266 BY THE TIBER. 
 
 give him her fingers, ring the bell, and whisk him 
 away before he knew. Then turning to close the 
 window, she could affect not to see him hanging about 
 the door. 
 
 And meantime the cold wind was pressing like a 
 block of ice on her shoulders, and a chill was creep- 
 ing over her from head to foot, and penetrating to her 
 heart. 
 
 At last the gradually attenuated leave-taking came 
 to a point where she could sever it, and she was free, 
 free and deadly cold. 
 
 She wrapped a shawl about her and lay down on 
 the sofa. She felt a little dull and confused, and took 
 no other means to counteract the harm that she had 
 received. Later, Dr. Kraus came. She hardly knew 
 what she said to him or when he went. 
 
 After a while she seemed to dream. Her room 
 was dim, and a black curtain hung round its walls, 
 and behind this curtain she heard a step. Some one 
 was running round between the curtain and the wall, 
 as if seeking an exit into the chamber and finding 
 none. The step betrayed agitation, and there was a 
 breathless agitation in the voice that spoke to her. 
 
 It was the voice of her mother, dead for many years. 
 
 " Don't be afraid, Valeria ! Your father will be 
 near you," it said. 
 
 And still running, and seeking to pass the veil that 
 separated them, and repeating over and over the same 
 words, she heard the step and the voice. 
 
 "Don't be afraid, Valeria! Your father will be 
 near you." 
 
 Then all went out in darkness. 
 
 She was delirious. 
 
 Like a candle that is lighted for a moment, her 
 consciousness came back. She was lying helpless,
 
 THE CLICK OF A LOCK. 267 
 
 and there seemed to be a mountain on her breast. 
 She struggled to breathe, and could not. Dr. Kraus 
 stood at a table preparing some medicine, half turned 
 away from her. 
 
 " You have taken my breath away ! " she gasped. 
 
 " No, I have n't ! " he replied rudely, without look- 
 ing round. 
 
 Then, like a candle, the light of her eyes went out. 
 
 Again it came back, but after what interval she 
 could not guess. 
 
 Her room was dim, and she was alone. A light 
 shone across the corridor from her study. Some one 
 was there, and she heard the rattling of papers and 
 whispered words, in which she presently recognized 
 Miss Cromo's voice. She read out the title of a story 
 that Valeria had begun, and made a comment on it. 
 
 They had, indeed, lost no time. Instead of locking 
 her writing-table, and waiting to see how her sickness 
 would turn, they had immediately begun to examine 
 her papers. 
 
 And, again, she was aware for a moment, at another 
 time, of Dr. Lacelles sitting at her bedside. 
 
 " And so they treated you very badly ? " he said. 
 
 He had a calm, quiet way that was very soothing. 
 One could not imagine that he would ever show the 
 rudeness of Dr. Kraus to an unconscious patient, or 
 one he believed to be unconscious. 
 
 " Yes, very ill ! " Valeria replied mechanically ; then 
 wondered what she had been saying to him, and 
 who had treated her ill; and, wondering, knew no 
 more. 
 
 She was roused again by a sound at her chamber 
 door. Miss Cromo, dressed for a visit, came in, and 
 took a chair at a little distance from the bed, and 
 facing her. 
 
 " She must not be made to talk," said the voice of 
 some one out of sight, probably the servant.
 
 268 BY THE TIBER. 
 
 " Very well ! I will look about a little, then," said 
 the visitor, and began to glance about the room, at the 
 furniture, the walls, the floor. 
 
 " Oh, how pretty the toilet and curtains are ! " she 
 exclaimed. " How very pretty ! " 
 
 Valeria was conscious ; but she had waked only to 
 the solemn struggle of life and death going on in her, 
 and to a terrible sense of her own helplessness. Of 
 the polite insincerities of life she knew nothing. All 
 that she could bear of suffering was pressing upon 
 her, and she felt this presence and triviality an 
 insult. 
 
 " If you came here only to make comments on my 
 furniture, you had better go home," she said with 
 most uncompromising brevity, as dead to etiquette as 
 a ghost. 
 
 Miss Cromo rose instantly and left the room without 
 a word. 
 
 Little by little, came the faint, cold dawn of return- 
 ing reason. It was no more a momentary glimmer- 
 ing, but a steady, though slow, increase of light. All 
 was painful and cheerless. She was faint and ema- 
 ciated; she needed simple medicines, which had not 
 been given her; she needed nourishment, and some 
 one to stand between her and all disturbances ; and 
 she had nothing. Never once had she opened her 
 eyes and found any one sitting beside her, ministering 
 to her, or saying a cheering word. If she waked in 
 the night, she was in darkness, though her servant 
 came when called. No vision of charity, nor even of 
 humanity, had appeared to her. 
 
 She rose one morning and dressed herself. She 
 staggered in walking, and her head reeled. She only 
 reached the sofa in the next room, and sank down 
 there exhausted. The servant came to her for orders, 
 and she could hardly give them. 
 
 Later Miss Pendleton caine to see her, and talked
 
 THE CLICK OF A LOCK. 269 
 
 till her head grew dizzy. She was kind, and very 
 affectionate ; but she talked as no one should talk to 
 a sick person, who was still sick enough to be in bed, 
 and carefully tended. 
 
 " How long have I been ill ? " Valeria asked her. 
 
 Miss Pendleton thought a moment, then replied, 
 " Six weeks." 
 
 She had been ill three weeks. It was that day 
 three weeks since the evening when the tramontanes 
 struck her. 
 
 Miss Pendleton had come for a special purpose. 
 She wished Valeria to leave her house, and go to some 
 hospital or institute where she could have proper care. 
 It was impossible to have the care she needed from a 
 servant, the visitor insisted, and she would never re- 
 cover if something were not done for her. 
 
 " All I need now is quiet and nourishment," Valeria 
 said faintly. " I cannot talk, I do not want to think. 
 Only let me rest." 
 
 Miss Pendleton persisted. It was a repetition of 
 the visit she had made in "the spring, six months be- 
 fore, the same wearing repetitions and urging, the 
 same promises if she would yield, the same ignoring 
 of all argument and reply. 
 
 Valeria took refuge in silence. Her mind, to which 
 some momentary confusions still clung, like the rags 
 of mist that linger for a little about the landscape 
 when the tempest has passed, seemed about to darken 
 anew and desert her under this torment. She would 
 not answer, and Miss Pendleton left her, after having 
 talked her almost into a swoon. 
 
 The next day several people came. She had told 
 the servant that she would see no one, yet they were 
 admitted. There were two doctors from some hospi- 
 tal, an old man, who took her hand, led her to the 
 strong, full light of the window, and questioned her, 
 his eyes fixed immovably on her face ; and a young
 
 270 BY THE TIBER. 
 
 man, who, seated on the arm of a chair, swung one 
 leg to and fro, and said nothing. 
 
 Valeria tried to give an account of herself, and could 
 not. The light troubled her, the man's gaze distressed 
 her, and she was annoyed at the manner of his com- 
 panion, which was astonishing in the presence of a 
 lady in her own house. She was expected to tell all 
 the symptoms of an illness of which she knew almost 
 nothing, and to describe her present state, which 
 she only recognized as a misery of weakness and 
 weariness. 
 
 The thought passed her mind that she would like 
 to see an American doctor, a man who would be 
 gentle, soothing, and considerate, and on whose skill 
 and honesty she could depend. These doctors seemed 
 to her very strange people. Little Dr. Kraus was all 
 the doctor she knew, except Dr. Lacelles. She would 
 certainly never have employed Dr. Kraus in a critical 
 case ; and she quite as certainly had never dreamed 
 of employing Dr. Lacelles professionally, however 
 agreeable she might have found him as a gentle- 
 man. 
 
 This doctor who was questioning her had thin white 
 hair and red eyes, and he looked sickly. By contrast, 
 he recalled the figure of the doctor she had had at home, 
 tall, strong, clean, and full of life and of gentleness. 
 She could have dropped into his hands with strength 
 enough for only one word, " Protect me ! " and been 
 sure that her house would have been a fortress against 
 all intrusion ; that whatever need she had would have 
 been found out, every care provided, and her smallest 
 flickering spark of life fed till it reached the full 
 flame. 
 
 There were such men in Rome ; but she could not 
 reach them. She had been taken possession of, and 
 there was no help for her. 
 
 The doctors went, but other people came.
 
 THE CLICK OF A LOCK. 271 
 
 A gentleman and his wife came, seated themselves 
 in two chairs, and looked at her. They were familiar 
 acquaintances, but none the less unwelcome now. 
 They did not talk, and she tried to talk to them, 
 having nothing to say. 
 
 They went, and presently some man came about a 
 repair needed in the house, and another with a little 
 household bill, and she had to see them both. It 
 would appear that the servant took no orders from 
 her mistress; and whatever directions Miss Pendleton 
 might have given her, to keep out visitors was not 
 among them. 
 
 Later Burton the artist came, bringing her some- 
 thing that he thought might tempt her appetite. She 
 was glad to see him, though she could neither eat nor 
 talk. He was such a good fellow when left to him- 
 self. She thought that if she had him to see to her 
 and keep everybody else away, she would soon get 
 well. 
 
 The day passed, and the night. " Oh, if I could 
 only be let alone to-day !" she said to her servant the 
 next morning. " Don't let any one come near me ! 
 Don't open the door to any one. I want to lie still 
 and not speak, except to you, all day. That will 
 make me feel better." 
 
 They did not mean that she should be any better 
 just then. They had plans which her health, if too 
 quickly established, would have interfered with. 
 
 Miss Pendleton was shown in, and there was a 
 repetition of their former interview. And again she 
 went away, leaving Valeria exhausted. 
 
 The next day she came again, bringing with her an 
 American friend of Valeria's, who had just come to 
 Home, and was going immediately away again. 
 
 Mrs. Marvin was one of the sweetest of women, 
 and as gentle as a dove. She had but just entered 
 the Church, and had all the enthusiasm of a convert,
 
 272 BY THE TIBER. 
 
 not only for the Church, but for Catholics. She 
 invested her Catholic friends with all the beauty of 
 the doctrines in which they professed belief, and the 
 virtues which they professed to practise. Simply and 
 transparently honorable, she had no conception of 
 dishonor under the garb of religion. Theoretically 
 it might be possible, but surely not of any one whom 
 she had ever seen. 
 
 She had been talked to and prepared for this inter- 
 view, and in adding her influence to further the 
 object of it, she verily believed that she did service 
 to God and to her neighbor. 
 
 Valeria was urged to leave her house, and go to a 
 certain hospital where she would have every care. 
 She was told that she could never recover where she 
 was. 
 
 It was again a siege, with two voices instead of one. 
 
 " You are nervous and you need a particular cure, " 
 Mrs. Marvin said, in her sweet, soothing way. 
 
 Valeria thought that she was not nervous. She 
 felt no excitement whatever, but only weakness and 
 lassitude ; but she did not contradict them. 
 
 " I will go if I can be quiet," she said at last ; " but 
 I cannot see to my apartment, nor to anything. I 
 don't want to think. Cannot you see that after such 
 an illness one needs perfect qiiiet for a while ? " 
 
 " Everything shall be done for you," Miss Pendleton 
 said eagerly ; " we will take all the responsibility. I 
 know a nice family who will take your apartment till 
 you want to come back. They would like to have a 
 place for the rest of the winter." 
 
 " I think I may go to America in the spring," 
 Valeria said. " I have had a letter from Sister Veron- 
 ica, who is a nun in a Southern convent, and my 
 dearest friend. I wrote them this summer that I was 
 not well. They invite me to go to them and stay 
 till my health shall be perfectly restored. I long to
 
 THE CLICK OF A LOCK. 273 
 
 be with them so that I would like to fly there this 
 moment. See ' this is her letter." 
 
 Miss Pendleton took the letter, read the address 
 written at the top, and gave it back. 
 
 " All shall be done for you," she said. " If you wish 
 to go to them in the spring, we may know some one 
 who is going, so that you shall have company. And 
 now you will be well taken care of, and to-morrow I 
 will take you to the place we have spoken of. Don't 
 think of anything ; leave all to me." 
 
 It was such a rest to think that she might leave all 
 to some one. 
 
 Her visitors both kissed her affectionately. 
 
 " I am so grateful to you ! " Valeria said to Mrs. 
 Marvin. 
 
 " Oh, it is nothing ! Christians must do for each 
 other, must they not ? " was the gentle reply. 
 
 As they were going out of the room Valeria thought 
 to ask, " Where is the place to which you will take 
 ine?" 
 
 " In the Lungara," Miss Pendleton said, and they 
 went. 
 
 In the Lungara ! And she was to go there because 
 she was nervous! In the Lungara was the great 
 lunatic asylum of Rome, and they must have meant 
 that. She had passed by its great iron gate more 
 than once. 
 
 Valeria started up and began to walk the floor. She 
 tried to think of some one to whom she could appeal. 
 She remembered the American Consul, and put her 
 hand on the bell-knob to call her servant to go for 
 him. But no ; the girl would go to Miss Pendleton 
 instead. And even if he should come, could she talk 
 to him in a way to convince him that she should not 
 go there ? This fear and distress, added to her weak- 
 ness, would confuse her, would agitate her. 
 
 She seated herself, and wrote a letter to the Supe- 
 18
 
 274 BY THE TIBER. 
 
 rior of the convent where Miss Pendleton lived. Her 
 letter was blotted, her hand trembled so that she 
 could hardly form the letters ; but the meaning was 
 plain. 
 
 She begged Madame de la Koche to let her come to 
 them for a little while. "All I want is rest and 
 quiet," she wrote. " I do want care, but not the care 
 of a lunatic asylum." Her letter was imploring, and 
 showed that she was terrified. When it was ended, 
 and she had sent the servant with it, she sank faint- 
 ing on the floor. 
 
 " They could easily drive me crazy or kill me in a 
 short time," she thought, when she recovered. 
 
 The note was left, but no reply was sent then. 
 
 The next day Miss Pendleton and Mrs. Marvin 
 came again. 
 
 They expressed warmly their regret for having dis- 
 turbed her so much when they meant to do her good. 
 She was soothed and reassured and coaxed. Madame 
 de la Roche was very sorry not to be able to take her. 
 Then Mrs. Marvin said that she had that day seen 
 another place which she thought would suit Valeria. 
 Did she know anything about Villa Barberini ? 
 
 No, she had never heard of it. But the word villa 
 was pleasant. It promised a garden. 
 
 Mrs. Marvin then described the place. It had large 
 grounds and gardens, extending over a hill near St. 
 Peter's. The house was tine, and Valeria's room would 
 be the best in it. There were a few ladies there, 
 who were not quite well, and wished to live quiet for 
 a while. She need not have anything to do with 
 them unless she wished to. Her meals would be 
 served to her privately, and she would have the at- 
 tendance of a servant who would be the same as a 
 maid, and every care necessary from a doctor and 
 nurse. The view from her window was lovely. Over 
 a near hill quite in the garden looked the dome of
 
 THE CLICK OF A LOCK. 275 
 
 St. Peter's, not more than twenty rods distant ; from 
 the other window she would see a procession of great 
 pines climbing the hill to a second villa. 
 
 It was an enchanting picture. 
 
 " I will go to-day if I may," Valeria said. " I am 
 impatient to be quiet and silent." 
 
 It was arranged that she should go the next day. 
 Miss Pendleton would come for her at two o'clock, 
 would take the keys of her house, and dismiss her 
 servant, and Valeria had nothing to do but to let her- 
 self be taken care of. 
 
 The rest of the day and the night seemed too long 
 in passing. But at last the longed-for day came. 
 
 It was the 18th of November. Looking over her 
 papers to put some of them into her trunk, Valeria 
 saw by her diary that she must have been taken sick 
 on the evening of the 27th of October, making thus 
 twenty-two days from the first, without counting the 
 weeks that she had suffered from fever without being 
 aware of it. 
 
 After her trunk was prepared, she wrote a letter to 
 those having the care of her affairs in America. Men- 
 tioning her illness, she said that Miss Pendleton would 
 take charge of her affairs, and was to be trusted like 
 herself. 
 
 The letter written, after resting awhile, she sat 
 down by the window looking westward up Via Nera 
 to wait. 
 
 It was a wild day, the sky full of sunshine and 
 black clouds. Now a dash of angry rain came flying 
 through the air and splashed itself, as sharp as hail, 
 against the window-panes ; then suddenly a rush of 
 sunbeams broke through the clouds and turned the 
 drops to gold. 
 
 It was the first time that Valeria had looked up to 
 observe nature since the tramontana struck her three 
 weeks before.
 
 276 BY THE TIBER. 
 
 Miss Pendleton was long in coming. She had prom- 
 ised to come at two o'clock, and she did not come 
 till four. When she came, the storm had subsided 
 into a mournful calm. A watery sunshine shone 
 through the windless sky, and now and then a few 
 rain-drops fell. 
 
 " I was afraid that you would n't come," Valeria 
 said, " and I could n't have stayed here another night, 
 I am so impatient." 
 
 Miss Pendleton was serious and preoccupied, and 
 had but little to say, except to excuse her delay. The 
 few necessary preparations were made, the trunk was 
 left to be sent for, and they went down to a cab that 
 was waiting at the door, Valeria supporting herself 
 partly on the banister, partly on Miss Pendleton's 
 arm. 
 
 They drove through street after street in silence. 
 Too weak to talk much in the house, Valeria was far 
 too weak to make herself heard above the noises of 
 the street ; and her companion did not seem disposed 
 to say anything. There were some familiar streets 
 and others strange, and they seemed to go back and 
 forth. 
 
 At length, when they had had time to go from end 
 to end of the city, Valeria said, " It seems to me that 
 we are going in a very round-about way." 
 
 " Yes," Miss Pendleton replied impatiently, " the 
 driver is taking the longest road he can, so as to 
 make it cost more. They always do that." 
 
 At length the houses ceased abruptly. They drove 
 up a rise between high walls, made a turn or two, 
 and stopped at a high iron gate that barred their way. 
 The gate was shut, but the porter appeared inside. 
 
 And here a difficulty occurred. The porter would 
 not admit them, not having received any orders to do 
 so, and the vetturino refused to stay any longer without 
 extra pay, which Miss Pendleton refused to give him.
 
 THE CLICK Of A LOCK. 277 
 
 There was a moment of perplexity; then the vettu- 
 rino was dismissed, and Miss Pendleton begged Vale- 
 ria to wait where she was while she should run to a 
 house lower down for an order. 
 
 The cab disappeared, Miss Pendleton disappeared, 
 and Valeria was left alone outside the gate with the 
 porter looking out through the bars. The rain began 
 to fall gently, the earth was wet, the air cold. It was 
 past the middle of November, and she had been in 
 bed only three or four days before with fever and con- 
 gestion of the lungs ; and she could scarcely stand. 
 Apparently, her health had been, from first to last, 
 but very little thought of. 
 
 At one side of the road there was a long chapel 
 with closed blinds, and grass-grown stone steps lead- 
 ing up to it. Valeria seated herself on these steps, 
 and waited. She began to grow afraid, not knowing 
 where she was. She would surely be ill again if she 
 stayed there much longer. And she could not sit up 
 either. She had already exerted herself too much 
 that day ; and she could scarcely keep herself from 
 lying down on the cold wet stones. 
 
 It was about fifteen minutes before Miss Pendle- 
 ton appeared, accompanied by a young nun in a black 
 dress, and wearing a black veil over a white one. 
 She was a sister of San Carlo, an order founded by 
 San Carlo Borromeo to take care of the sick. 
 
 The two were running. They made some hasty 
 excuses, the gate opened, and they entered. It was 
 a beautiful gate, and the road it opened into ran be- 
 tween a wall and a high slope, and was bordered with 
 trees and shrubs, and there were flowers even now, 
 and the banks were a bright emerald. Vines hung 
 over the gate, and wreathed a little bridge that crossed 
 over it. 
 
 They did not follow the road. The nun took them 
 up a steep path leading to the bridge, where they
 
 278 BY THE TIBER. 
 
 entered the continuation of a branch of the avenue 
 from the gate. The rain was falling, and the way 
 seemed long ; but the sister held Valeria by the arm, 
 and helped her along. 
 
 At length they reached a house, and, passing under 
 palm-branches that overshadowed the steps, entered a 
 small garden enclosed in an angle of the casino. At 
 the door another sister met them, took charge of 
 Valeria, led her up-stairs, and helped her to bed. 
 
 Miss Pendleton took leave at once, promising to 
 come again soon. 
 
 Supper was brought, and she ate a little, sitting up 
 in bed, and served by the nun who had met her at 
 the door. Then she leaned forward, and looked out 
 through the window. Opposite was the Castle of St. 
 Angelo, with the Tiber coining boldly forward a short 
 distance, then turning aside out of sight. Beyond the 
 castle were fields, and beyond the fields a long range 
 of mountains, faintly rosy now opposite the rainy 
 sunset. 
 
 They had not deceived her in saying that the place 
 was beautiful. 
 
 " This is not your room," the sister said. " Yours 
 is larger. It will be ready for you to-morrow." 
 
 Later, the sister came softly in again, and began 
 setting the room in order for the night. She closed 
 the shutters, placed a little flask of violet-water on a 
 stand beside the bed, and smoothed the pillows and 
 cover. 
 
 Valeria did not speak, nor open her eyes, but she 
 smiled. This was something like care, like charity. 
 
 Those quiet motions were lulling, and when the 
 sister went out, Valeria scarcely knew. It seemed to 
 her that she heard the click of a lock when the door 
 closed. But she forgot it immediately, and soon fell 
 asleep.
 
 LA CARITA ROMANA. 279 
 
 CHAPTER XXVII. 
 
 LA CARITA EOMANA. 
 
 nearly forty-eight hours Valeria lay and 
 suffered herself to be taken care of without a 
 thought. The sister and the doctor had discovered 
 immediately the mistakes or the neglect in her treat- 
 ment, and had remedied them. It was the ideal of 
 care for a convalescent. 
 
 There were long hours of quiet loneliness, but never 
 any neglect. 
 
 Now and then she raised herself in bed, and lean- 
 ing forward looked out at the castle, the river, the 
 stretching fields, and the far-off mountains. Once 
 she rose and went to the window to see what was 
 beneath. There was a narrow court, and beyond, 
 nothing but a steep-dropping succession of roofs, 
 looking like a shell-strewn beach with the multi- 
 tudinous tiny curves of their mossy-lichened tiles. 
 
 A black old stone-wall was visible at the left, with 
 weeds and flowers set in the interstices. 
 
 The house was, evidently, on the brink of a steep 
 hillside. There were but two stories in front, and 
 here there appeared to be four. At the left of the 
 view was the Vatican. 
 
 The window was crossed by heavy bars of wood, 
 so that she could not put her head out ; but that did 
 not surprise her ; one sees bolts and barred windows 
 everywhere in Italy, and though they are usually 
 seen only on the ground-floor, it was not strange to 
 a stranger to see them on the fourth, especially in a 
 house inhabited by nuns. 
 
 The attendants were as pleasing as the place. A 
 pretty young nurse came and went, ready to do any-
 
 280 BY THE TIBER, 
 
 thing, and never doing too much, and Sister Agnes 
 came every few hours to visit her. 
 
 Sister Agnes had that charm which only a nun can 
 possess. Closed in a convent in her early youth, she 
 had preserved the simplicity of a child, while acquir- 
 ing the strength of character and experience in her 
 duties of a woman. She was rather small, and her 
 face had a severe and melancholy cast ; but her smile 
 transfigured it with a sudden childlike sweetness, and 
 her manner, ordinarily calm and even 'taciturn, had 
 in conversation a charming vivacity. She had the 
 instinct of a nurse, the gentle authority, the soft 
 touch, the ready, supporting arms, the quick eyes, the 
 order and neatness. She divined what was wanting 
 without waiting to be asked. 
 
 On the second morning Sister Agnes came to con- 
 duct Valeria to her room, which had now been pre- 
 pared for her. It was on the same floor, but looked 
 out over the villa instead of the city, and was at the 
 end of a long corridor, that had chambers at either 
 side. This was a new wing of the house, and Valeria 
 was the only person on the second floor. 
 
 Each door had a little slide in it, glass inside, a 
 movable iron screen outside ; and the locks and han- 
 dles were on the outside. The doors could not be 
 fastened from within. 
 
 Beside these peculiarities, and the wooden bars at 
 all the windows, they were quite like any other com- 
 fortable bedrooms. There were carpets, the walls and 
 , ceilings were delicately tinted, and they had the ordi- 
 nary furniture of a bed-chamber. 
 
 Valeria's room was larger than the others, and had 
 a little dressing-room attached, with a large double 
 doorway without a door, and covered by a curtain. 
 From this dressing-room a window looked toward St. 
 Peter's. 
 
 The casino was built upon a hillside, not upon the
 
 LA CARITA ROMANA. 281 
 
 top, and the hill had been dug away a little more to 
 build this new wing. Over the green summit, not 
 three minutes' walk from the house, which was on 
 the northern summit of the Janiculum, the dome of 
 St. Peter's looked so large and near that it startled at 
 first sight. The great cupola seemed to be set on the 
 hill-top like a huge stone-ribbed bird-cage. All its 
 form was visible ; but nothing else was visible except 
 the apostles of the facade, and two smaller cupolas, 
 which might have been birds hopped out of that 
 cage, so small did they look in comparison. In cer- 
 tain lights, the apostles appeared to be standing on the 
 hill-top. 
 
 " Oh, there come the apostles to make me a visit ! 
 They are welcome ! " said Valeria, without reflecting 
 that this speech might seem strange to the simple, 
 literal nun. 
 
 The bedroom window skimmed the backward edge 
 of the Janiculum, gave a view of St. Onofrio, with its 
 little campanile and one bell against the sky, and of 
 the flat-topped cypresses of the mortuary chapel, on 
 the steps of which Valeria had seated herself two 
 days before. Higher up against the sky stood the 
 casino of Villa Gabrielli, with a noble procession of 
 umbrella pines leading down toward the hollow to 
 the villa gate. 
 
 The grounds of these two adjoining villas were 
 connected in a manner to puzzle one. The only way 
 of passing from one to the other was over a narrow 
 bridge. Under this bridge was the gate ; and the ave- 
 nue made the figure 8, both bridge and gate being at 
 the intersection of the lines. 
 
 " Would n't you like to go out and take a walk? " the 
 sister said, smiling at Valeria's contentment with 
 her apartment. " It would do you good to take the 
 
 Certainly she would like to. Already, in but little
 
 282 BY THE TIBER. 
 
 more than twenty-four hours, her life was beginning 
 to come back. It needed so little help. 
 
 The sister went away, promising to come for her in 
 the afternoon, and Valeria sank into an arm-chair by 
 the window, and looked out at the pines. They were 
 melancholy, but they were peaceful. 
 
 " Thank God for a garden that I am not afraid to 
 look into," she thought, and then shudderingly put 
 the thought far away. She must forget all that now. 
 
 There was an open gate beneath the window, and 
 the avenue passed through, and was lost in a smooth 
 curve on the hill, only a double line of tree-tops show- 
 ing its farther course. 
 
 Close to the gate, and directly opposite the casino, 
 was a building with Tessenda painted in large letters 
 on the front. From the open windows and doors of 
 this building came the humming sound of many hand- 
 looms, and now and then a woman, who might be a 
 weaver, appeared for a moment, then disappeared to 
 resume her work. 
 
 Valeria lay back languidly, and thought what a 
 sweet gift is life, with all its burdens. 
 
 Her dinner was brought by the pretty nurse, Fide- 
 lia. This girl was a tall, black-haired Trasteverina, 
 and, though serving with all necessary readiness and 
 humility, had an air of natural stateliness. 
 
 Valeria found that she could eat something. 
 
 " I really believe that I have gained wonderfully 
 already," she said. 
 
 " Certainly ! And you will soon be well, signora," 
 the girl replied brightly. 
 
 After an hour or two, the sister came. 
 
 They went down-stairs to an anteroom where two 
 or three ladies were sitting with a nurse ; and here 
 Sister Agnes begged Valeria to wait for her in the 
 sala adjoining, as something required her attention 
 before she could go out.
 
 LA CARITA ROMANA. 283 
 
 
 
 The sala was a pretty room with frescoed walls and 
 ceiling. Overhead, a few delicately tinted clouds 
 sailed across a blue sky, and birds flew in and out. 
 The walls represented a half-open veranda, with land- 
 scapes showing between the pillars, and vines and 
 trees that pushed in here and there a branch, and a 
 balustrade with vases and birds standing on it. Noth- 
 ing could be more graceful than this decoration. 
 
 There was but one person in the room, a young 
 woman of about thirty years of age. Valeria bent 
 her head; but the lady, without responding, sat 
 slightly turned toward her, and looked at her with a 
 mild and sorrowful attention. She was very thin, 
 but tall and elegantly formed, and her face was spir- 
 ited and beautiful in outline. The nostrils were thin 
 and sensitive, the upper lip short and curling, the 
 eyes blue. The curly hair was drawn back into a 
 cluster of thick puffs, and a blue bow of ribbon at one 
 side brought out its rich chestnut shade. A black 
 velvet dress contrasted with the exquisite fairness of 
 her skin. Her face, from its shape, did not seem 
 thin, and her cheeks were softly rose-tinted. One 
 would have said that both head and face indicated an 
 uncommon intelligence. 
 
 As Valeria was beginning to wonder at her contin- 
 ued gaze, the young woman suddenly clapped her 
 hands together, started up, and began to pace the 
 room from end to end. She carried a white handker- 
 chief by the corner, and swung it about. She looked 
 upward with her fine eyes, and gesticulated gracefully 
 with hands and arms. Then she began to sing, or to 
 declaim, in rapid words hard to follow. She seemed, 
 wiuh her mellow voice, to pour out supplications, ac- 
 cusations, and menaces, ever walking rapidly to and 
 fro, and swinging her handkerchief. 
 
 Her excitement grew. Her short upper lip curled 
 with angry scorn, her brows became corrugated and
 
 284 BY THE TIBER. 
 
 black, she bent her head forward, and her eyes flashed 
 up from under the lowered lids, her voice rose to a 
 cry. 
 
 What little of strength Valeria possessed seemed to 
 condense itself into a crinkling flash of lightning 
 which ran through her quivering heart. Who and 
 what was this woman ? 
 
 She could not bear it. She went out into the ante- 
 room and dropped into a chair, rather than seated 
 herself there. 
 
 There was a nurse with her knitting-work, and a 
 little old lady walking to and fro, talking to herself 
 in a whisper. Now and then she stopped to exam- 
 ine the floor, and picked up a thread or some small 
 object. 
 
 " Who is that lady in the sola ? " Valeria asked of 
 the nurse. 
 
 " It is the Donna Claudia," the girl replied, still 
 knitting, but looking attentively at the questioner. 
 
 " But that is not answering me," Valeria said, 
 finding the girl's manner but slightly ceremonious. 
 " Who is she ? " 
 
 " She is a daughter of the Duke L ." 
 
 " And what is the matter with her ? " 
 
 " Oh, she is only a little put out about something ! " 
 the girl said carelessly. " Donna Claudia," she called 
 out, raising her voice, "please keep quiet!" 
 
 The Donna Claudia paid no attention. She was 
 panting out breathless execrations in a strange, dis- 
 tinct whisper that was forced through her lips till it 
 seemed to be close to the ear. Few tragic actresses 
 have such grace or such a power of voice. 
 
 The nurse went to quiet her, and the little old lady 
 came and seated herself beside Valeria, and began to 
 speak to her in French in a low tone, and with a 
 manner of delicate sweetness. After a moment she 
 leaned and kissed her lightly on both cheeks. Then
 
 LA CARITA ROMAKA. 285 
 
 she displayed what she had been picking up from the 
 floor, ends of thread, and co!6red lint, and a bit of 
 pressed mud that had dropped from a shoe ; and 
 showed with an air of pride a piece of completed 
 work, a bit of lace knotted out of odds and ends into 
 the shape of a tiny bag. In this bag she had impris- 
 oned a snail, perfectly closing the opening. Then she 
 began a new piece of work, murmuring on her unin- 
 telligible talk in alternate English, French, Italian, 
 and Spanish. 
 
 Sister Agnes returned with many excuses for being 
 so late. 
 
 " I have spoken to this lady, and she does not an- 
 swer me," Valeria said. She was feeling as if she 
 should faint. 
 
 " Oh, the Donna Faustina is very deaf ! " the sister 
 replied. " But she is so good ! " and she patted the 
 old lady on the shoulder. 
 
 The Donna Faustina made a courtesy from under 
 the hand, and walked away with a wonderful unre- 
 sentful stateliness, her ringers busy with her tatting. 
 
 " Who is she ? " Valeria asked. 
 
 "She is the daughter of the Prince of S 
 
 Q 
 
 They went out. The little garden, open to the 
 south, but shielded from all cold winds, was bright 
 with flowers. Two beds of pansies spread their rich 
 carpets of purple and gold beside the path, the house 
 was draped up to the height of one story with flower- 
 ing vines and heliotrope, and a fountain tossed its 
 slender jet of water into the air. There had been 
 rain in the morning ; but the sun was shining, and it 
 was near sunset. They went down the steps under 
 the palms, and walked up the avenue. 
 
 There was a Madonna in a niche of stones in the 
 bank at the roadside, just outside the gate that 
 Valeria had seen beneath her window, and beyond it
 
 286 BY THE TIBER. 
 
 an excavation "with ancient walls and foundations, and 
 beautiful fragments of sculpture, and alabaster and 
 precious marbles over which the grass had been grow- 
 ing for centuries. 
 
 They had gone but a few steps when Valeria's 
 strength deserted her, and she begged the sister to 
 return to the house. A fascinated terror prompted 
 her to learn more of this house without delay. She 
 longed to find something to reassure her, yet did not 
 dare to own to herself what it was that she feared. 
 
 " You had better rest a little while before going up- 
 stairs," Sister Agnes said to her when they reached 
 the anteroom. " I will bring you a glass of wine." 
 And she left the room. 
 
 There was a lady whom Valeria had not seen before, 
 and a nurse in the anteroom. 
 
 This lady was between fifty and sixty years of age. 
 Her face was pleasing and intelligent. Her dark hair 
 was very thin in front ; but an enormous braid was 
 looped at the back of her head. A plain gray wool 
 dress was fitted somewhat too closely to her thin 
 figure, and she wore black velvet boots on her exqui- 
 sitely small feet. She carried her head very high with 
 an air of mingled pride and affability. 
 
 The nurse asked two or three questions of Vale- 
 ria. Was she English ? Had she been long in Eome? 
 
 The lady turned and dropped her eyes for an in- 
 stant on the girl. 
 
 " A lady can question a servant," she said ; " but a 
 servant can never interrogate a lady." Then, address- 
 ing Valeria, she said pleasantly, " You are going to 
 stay here some time ? " 
 
 " I suppose so," Valeria replied hesitatingly. " I 
 have been ill." 
 
 " Oh ! " The lady looked out for a moment into 
 the garden. " I meant to have gone away to-day," 
 she said after a moment ; " but I have to wait for 
 some dresses. I shall go to-morrow."
 
 LA CARITA ROMANA. 287 
 
 Valeria felt sorry; for the gracious manner, clear 
 voice, and entirely natural and refined air of this 
 stranger had pleased her. " I am sorry that you are 
 going," she said. 
 
 The stranger replied with a slight bow and smile. , 
 
 " Do you remain in Eome ? " Valeria asked. 
 
 " No ; I am going to Naples," the lady said, with 
 an air of smiling pride and contentment. " A deputa- 
 tion from there visited me yesterday to offer rne the 
 crown." 
 
 Valeria remained silent. 
 
 " They gave me till this morning to think over 
 their proposal," the lady went on in the same airy 
 manner \ " and I have concluded to go." 
 
 She ceased, faintly smiling and proud, and sat look- 
 ing out into the garden. 
 
 Valeria found voice to say, "You are then Nea- 
 politan ? " 
 
 " No ; I am Roman. I am the Duchess of S . 
 
 I have visited Naples, however. I went there several 
 years ago with the Duke. When we were near the 
 city, the king came out to meet us with a troop of 
 horse ; and when we entered, the people came about 
 us with gifts of every sort, as they came to the Jubilee 
 of the Holy Father. One had a basket of eggs, an- 
 other a basket of oranges, another a pair of chickens. 
 They all brought something." 
 
 She spoke with graceful, laughing ease, and all the 
 indulgence of a sovereign pleased with her popularity, 
 while amused by the simple demonstrations of her 
 people. 
 
 The sister returned. 
 
 " I told the doctor what you wanted, Duchess," she 
 said ; " and he will send it up." 
 
 The Duchess bent her head carelessly, without 
 looking at the nun. 
 
 " I must go down to the community for a few
 
 288 BY THE TIBER. 
 
 minutes," Sister Agnes said to Valeria. " If you want 
 to go up-stairs before I come back, one of the girls will 
 go with you." And she went. 
 
 The door of the sala opened abruptly, and a very 
 large stern-faced woman came out, and crossed the 
 anteroom to Valeria, whom she confronted angrily, 
 " You are a rascal ! " she said violently in English. 
 
 " What have I done ? " Valeria asked, shrinking. 
 For the woman seemed about to strike her. 
 
 " You have said that I am the Count de Moray ; 
 and I am Louis Philippe, the king!" cried the 
 woman. 
 
 " On the contrary, I always maintained that you 
 were the king," Valeria replied. 
 
 " You are a rascal ! " cried the woman, unappeased. 
 
 " Will you say something to her ? " said Valeria to 
 the nurse. " I cannot bear this ! " 
 
 " Go and sit down, Maclama ! " commanded the 
 nurse. " She won't hurt you," she added to Valeria. 
 
 Madama went and seated herself in a chair, and, 
 losing after a moment her look of anger, began to 
 smile and talk affably in English to an imaginary 
 company, nodding and answering remarks unheard 
 by all but herself, and totally unconscious of the 
 people really present. 
 
 A young woman with yellow hair came out from 
 the sala, and, walking to and fro, began to declaim 
 violently against the Italian government, and to re- 
 count the wrongs of the Pope. The Donna Faustina, 
 who had been sitting quietly at her tatting, rose and 
 began to make courtesies to Valeria, and insisted on 
 kissing her hand. The Donna Claudia burst out of 
 another room, followed by Fidelia, the nurse, who 
 tried in vain to stop her. Her eyes were flashing 
 with fury, her mouth was drawn down at the corners, 
 and she growled fiercely, and ran about with her head 
 down, like a wild bull, striking at everything in her
 
 LA CARITA ROMANA. 289 
 
 way. All sign of beauty was obliterated from her 
 face. She was a beast. 
 
 Without waiting for help, Valeria rose, and hastened, 
 half fainting, to the stairway. One of the nurses 
 followed, and helped her up to her chamber, and left 
 her alone in the growing twilight. 
 
 This, then, was the quiet and peace which they had 
 promised her !- This was the house where ladies who 
 were a little nervous went for quiet ! They called 
 the Donna Claudia a little nervous ! 
 
 Valeria was too weak to feel indignant. She was 
 simply terrified. She started at a slight sound, fan- 
 cying that one of those terrible women had followed 
 her up-stairs. She went to the door and tried to fas- 
 ten it, but there was no lock nor latch on the inside. 
 She longed to be locked in. Then things began to 
 seem strange to her, and she doubted if she had not 
 imagined that horrible scene below, and if it were 
 not she who was mad. She was in precisely the state 
 in which the persons who had planned, if not those 
 who had carried out, her incarceration, had known 
 that she would be, placed in her weak and sensitive 
 condition in such a company. She was in danger of 
 going mad. 
 
 Fortunately, her own feelings terrified her so much 
 as presently to overcome the other fear. She went to 
 the window, and watched the boughs wave in the 
 wind, and the clouds sailing over the sky. 
 
 " The boughs always move that way," she said, " and 
 the clouds sail before the wind. There is nothing 
 strange in nature. But if I were shut up where I 
 could see only the walls of my room, I should go mad. 
 Oh, I must keep calm ! I must not seem afraid. I 
 must wait till I gain a little strength before I think 
 of anything. My room is pretty, and I have good 
 care. I must pretend to be content. If I show any 
 excitement I shall be ruined." 
 19
 
 290 BY THE TIBER. 
 
 They brought her supper, and the nurse helped her 
 to bed. She scarcely said anything, except to ask 
 what day of the month it was. 
 
 " I have had nothing to remind nie of the day of 
 the mouth or of the week for some time," she said. 
 
 " Oh, as you get stronger, your memory will come 
 back ! " the nurse said. 
 
 " I have not forgotten anything," she replied. " It 
 is because the days in a sick-room are all alike." 
 
 The girl went, and this time the door was not 
 locked. She was sorry for it ; but quieted her fears 
 with the reflection that women as violent as those she 
 had seen were likely to be locked in and watched. 
 Stretching out her hand for the crucifix that hung by 
 her bed, she clasped it close, and wept in silent deso- 
 lation. 
 
 " Oh, my Lord, this is what they call charity ! " she 
 said. 
 
 She would have been better off in a pagan land. 
 
 There were voices on the stairs from which one 
 large chamber of the main body of the casino opened, 
 and the Donna Faustina was heard snarling like a 
 cat. The nurse tried to soothe her ; the door shut, 
 and there was silence. 
 
 An hour or two passed, and then Valeria with 
 wide-open eyes saw a light shining in through her 
 door, and heard a light step coming along the corridor. 
 Her heart leaped, then grew quiet ; for it was the 
 black veiled head and white collar of Sister Agnes 
 that appeared at the door . 
 
 Valeria closed her eyes, and lay still while the sis- 
 ter with a gentle hand smoothed the sheet and cover 
 of the bed, and went softly about the room. 
 
 It reminded her of a time how far back in her 
 childish days ! when her mother used to come to 
 her so at night before going to bed herself, and make 
 sure that she was well And the question, so often
 
 THE WITNESSES. 291 
 
 asked in those long-lost winters when the snow-drifts 
 lay without thicker than the green boughs outside 
 her window now, seemed to be spoken again : " Are 
 you warm enough, Valeria ? " 
 
 They were all dead that made her home, and she 
 was in a foreign land and in a mad-house ; yet even 
 here something like mercy had found her ! 
 
 As the sister came to her pillow again, Valeria put 
 her arms up, drew the head down, and kissed her si- 
 lently ; and the kiss was not for Sister Agnes, but for 
 her mother sleeping under the snows on a New Eng- 
 land hillside across the sea. 
 
 " What !' not sleeping yet ! " said the sister, with a 
 pretty chiding in her voice. 
 
 " No ; but I think that your coming will bring me 
 sleep. Are those women all locked up ? " 
 
 " Oh, yes ! " Sister Agnes said. " They are always 
 locked in at night. And there is a nurse with the 
 Donna Faustina, whom you could call if you should 
 want anything." 
 
 She went away, and this time did not lock the. 
 door. 
 
 CHAPTER XXVIII. 
 
 THE WITNESSES. 
 
 " But these witnesses, were there any, or not ? 
 
 " What ! Do you think that they lacked witnesses ? If it were 
 a question of nailing our Lord to the cross again, do you believe that 
 they would not find them < Of course there were witnesses, people 
 who for the skin of a fig would swear to any falsity." 
 
 MARCO VISCONTI. 
 
 "HILE Valeria lay ill, telling in her delirium all 
 the bitter story of the past months ; and while, 
 the flood of her malady passed by, she lay faint and 
 
 w
 
 292 BY THE TIBER. 
 
 exhausted on the shore of life, only beginning to live 
 again ; and while, having detected and resisted their 
 wish to take her to the Asylum, she had consented to 
 go, and Had been taken to Villa Barberini, the people 
 who, to use the Roman phrase, " interested themselves 
 in her," had been very busy. 
 
 This illness, and especially the delirium, could not 
 have suited them better if they had themselves pro- 
 cured it. 
 
 It is impossible to commit one crime alone, unless 
 the criminal is willing to suffer the consequences. 
 The wrong-doer who wishes to be held respectable is 
 driven, almost in his own despite, to whatever means 
 may best hide his fault, even though, as might hap- 
 pen, he should have to commit a greater crime to hide 
 the first. This necessity is the scourge of the arch- 
 enemy. They have, therefore, the poor excuse of 
 self-defence. 
 
 There is another class of persons who presumably 
 have not this excuse. They may be correct enough 
 in their own conduct, but they are very useful to 
 those who are not correct. Foremost among this class 
 in Valeria's affairs was Miss Cromo. Her warning 
 on hearing the story confided to her had shown how 
 perfectly she knew what would be the wishes of those 
 involved, and she made haste to anticipate them. 
 These wishes could not have been carried out if she 
 had opposed them ; with her assistance, they could 
 easily be realized. She had, as she might have ex- 
 pressed it, the whip-hand in the affair. She had the 
 doctor in her hands, and could decide who should be 
 called in consultation. She had a great many ac- 
 quaintances, and was one of the foreign centres of 
 Roman gossip, and she could spread a report widely. 
 From her came the first word which characterized 
 Valeria's brief fever delirium as insanity. 
 
 Besides her willingness to do a harm to one who
 
 THE WITNESSES. 293 
 
 had seriously offended her, she had two powerful 
 motives : she could thus avoid the eumity of those who 
 might suspect her as Valeria's confidante, and she could 
 secure the friendship of the Countess Belvedere, who 
 could scarcely be ungrateful for such a service. 
 
 She helped with a zeal which almost exceeded Bru- 
 no's ; and she must have wearied even her own very 
 active tongue in repeating to all her acquaintances 
 the different inventions of Bruno's company of assist- 
 ants. 
 
 The servant, Marta, whom Valeria had dismissed, 
 was questioned by Miss Peudleton. 
 
 The girl had already been prepared. She was very 
 quick-witted, and a hint was enough. 
 
 " Was n't the Signora Valeria a little strange ? " 
 Bruno had asked. 
 
 Of course she was. The girl poured out a hundred 
 stories, too many, indeed. It was necessary to se- 
 lect from them ; and she was made to understand on 
 which she was to insist. 
 
 When Miss Pendleton examined the witness, she 
 was scrupulous in charging her to tell only the strict 
 truth. 
 
 Marta at once related her inventions in the most 
 pious manner, and swore to the truth of them. 
 
 Then it was necessary to have in readiness certain 
 manias which could riot easily be disproved ; for Vale- 
 ria could no longer be called insane. A person may 
 have a dangerous mania, yet seem perfectly sane. 
 
 That some notable and flagrant examples of vice 
 should have come to her knowledge could scarcely 
 suffice. Unfortunately, the number of persons of the 
 highest respectability who had said very nearly the 
 same thing, and were still going about the world in 
 the full enjoyment of their liberty, and clothed in their 
 right mind, would more than fill all the lunatic asy- 
 lums of the universe.
 
 294 BY THE TIBER. 
 
 It was then found that Valeria was absolutely in- 
 sane in money-spending, and that she was an opium- 
 eater ; two very useful manias. By means of the first, 
 she could he deprived of the power to hold money ; 
 and without money, she was powerless ; by means of 
 the second, her friends at a distance might be made to 
 wish that some restraint might be put upon her till 
 she should have been enabled to break a habit which 
 had already unsettled her mind and might destroy her 
 life. 
 
 There was a little effort made to ascribe to an aber- 
 ration of mind her known dislike of Miss Cromo ; but 
 it was found that people insane upon that subject were 
 but too common, and the effort expired in a laugh. 
 
 Miss Pendleton went to consult with Miss Cromo ; 
 but, as the former was "devoted to God," while the 
 latter was supposed to be in the other camp, it was 
 necessary to begin with a disinfecting ceremony. 
 
 Miss Pendleton introduced the subject of religion. 
 
 Miss Cromo professed herself contrite, humble, 
 and believing. The base metal to which she had con- 
 fessed to Valeria had apparently been again plated 
 over. She was under the deepest conviction. She, 
 the clever mocker of sixty, almost went on her knees 
 to a woman fifteen or twenty years younger than her- 
 self, whose mind and profession she had ridiculed and 
 despised. She assured Miss Pendleton that she per- 
 formed her religious duties regularly, went to Mass, 
 and said her prayers morning and evening ; and she 
 listened with meekness to a somewhat lengthened 
 advice and admonition against backsliding. 
 
 Prayers having thus been said before meat, they 
 proceeded piously and lovingly to mangle Valeria's 
 reputation, to plot against her freedom, perhaps 
 against her reason and her life. They arrived at a 
 perfect understanding. 
 
 It is doubtful if Miss Pendleton believed one word
 
 THE WITNESSES. 295 
 
 of all the stories which she heard and repeated ; but 
 she persuaded herself that it was best, taking all into 
 consideration, that Valeria should be discredited, so 
 that whatever she might say of the Belvedere afl'airs 
 might be called a mania, then sent away, if she should 
 outlive the discrediting process, where her revelations 
 would not annoy such precious sinners. 
 
 She certainly did not dislike Valeria ; on the con- 
 trary, she liked her while she was submissive ; but 
 she considered it in some sort a duty to sacrifice her 
 in order to prevent a scandal. 
 
 Having found herself strengthened by Miss Crorno, 
 Miss Pendleton went to visit another lady. 
 
 Mrs. Harwood was a person of a very different 
 character. She was a childless widow in good circum- 
 stances, but in bad health. She was a kind friend to 
 Valeria, who had a sincere respect and affection for 
 her. Of an upright and honorable nature, the qual- 
 ities of her heart were even exceeded by those of her 
 head ; and her intellect, if she had had the full use of 
 it, would have been of an almost masculine character. 
 
 Like the most of the little circle of Valeria's ac- 
 quaintances, she was a Catholic convert, and, being an 
 invalid and advanced in age, her religion was her 
 chief employment and consolation. 
 
 A peculiarity in her was the great respect which 
 she professed and demanded for authority; and this 
 sentiment was expressed less with a feminine rever- 
 ence than with the masculine assertion of one who 
 assumes to be authoritative in himself, and is defend- 
 ing the privileges of his own order. For while she 
 denounced a popular independence of opinion and 
 thought, she was herself notably independent with 
 those whom she acknowledged to be authorities, and 
 very hard to silence when not convinced that she was 
 wrong. Once convinced, however, she submitted 
 nobly! She had the partial justice of a good intellect ;
 
 296 BY THE TIBER. 
 
 but justice is never perfect without imagination, and 
 she was utterly unimaginative. She was incapable 
 of fancying herself in any other position than that 
 which she occupied. 
 
 This lady's malady, a nervous one, was peculiar. 
 She was subject to short trances, into which she would 
 fall while talking, or after any exertion of the mind. 
 The face became vacant, the eyes fixed, the form 
 motionless. If addressed at such a time, she did not 
 seem to hear. She appeared to be insensible, sitting 
 upright with her eyes open. 
 
 After a minute or so, during which her interlocutor 
 would pause in embarrassment or fear, according to 
 his degree of familiarity with this phenomenon, she 
 would suddenly resume the conversation where she 
 had left it, and go on talking, without seeming to be 
 aware that she had interrupted herself. If the person 
 had continued talking to her, she had either no 
 knowledge, or a very distorted idea, of what had been 
 said. 
 
 This nervous malady had other consequences. One 
 was an impatience of being kept waiting or of being 
 contradicted, which would sometimes throw her into 
 a sudden fury, as startling to one not accustomed to 
 her as a sudden squall across a glassy lake. Her face 
 would crimson with an instantaneous rush of blood, 
 her voice would rise almost to a scream, and, though 
 infirm, she would for the moment be endowed with 
 the agility of youth and health. Then, as suddenly, 
 the squall was over, and she seemed as unconscious of 
 it as she had been of the trance. 
 
 Her friends spoke of her with affectionate indul- 
 gence and pity. Among indifferent people she was 
 unceremoniously spoken of as half crazy. 
 
 This lady, then, herself at liberty, was held to be 
 an authority in deciding whether another should be 
 put under restraint.
 
 THE WITNESSES. 297 
 
 The subject pained and disturbed her; she was 
 sorry for Valeria, and she did not feel herself well 
 enough to take any responsibility in the affairs of 
 others, though, on hearing the stories that were brought 
 to her, she unhesitatingly decided that Valeria ought 
 to be sent to an asylum. Shut up within the four 
 walls of her house, and utterly lacking in that artistic 
 curiosity and in the lively charity which might have 
 made her, had she possessed them, wish to know what 
 was going on in the world, she knew nothing and 
 cared nothing beyond her own circle, and she held 
 her exclusion to be a virtue. Those habits of obser- 
 vation which make the artist and the writer, she 
 held to be a fault in Valeria. 
 
 It was not alone Miss Pendleton who talked to this 
 lady ; Miss Cromo, with whom she had no intimacy, 
 and in whom she had no confidence, invited her to go 
 out to drive, and came for her in a cab, that they might 
 talk without interruption. 
 
 Miss Cromo began with praises of Valeria. She 
 was so fond of her, so sorry for her ; poor Valeria had 
 so much talent ; had Mrs. Harwood read her last 
 story in the Sunrise Monthly ? No ? What a pity ! 
 She would herself lend it to her. She liked it better 
 than anything she had previously read of Valeria's. 
 
 Then came the object of their interview. 
 
 Mrs. Harwood knew Miss Cromo's character per- 
 fectly in a theoretical way. She had said to Valeria 
 of a mutual acquaintance of theirs, " Clarissa knows 
 her, root and branch." Yet practically she could be 
 made by her to believe almost anything. 
 
 Miss Cromo, doing all that she could to prove that 
 Valeria was fit only for a lunatic asylum, begged that 
 she might not be sent to one, and Mrs. Harwood 
 insisted that there was no other course possible. 
 Though she knew absolutely nothing of the case 
 except by hearsay, she considered it perfectly clear,
 
 298 BY THE TIBER. 
 
 and abundantly proved. Whether she would have 
 considered such witnesses sufficient if it had been a 
 question of shutting herself up, is doubtful. 
 
 Mrs. Harwood knew the American Consul and 
 was known by him, and her word would have weight 
 with him. It was for this chiefly that she was 
 wanted. 
 
 The two doctors, though apparently the most 
 important, were, in reality, secondary characters in 
 the drama. An able and honest physician would 
 have swept this network away like a spider's-web. 
 
 Good care was taken that no such person should 
 be called. Dr. Kraus had been skilfully manipulated 
 by Miss Cromo. He understood that he might make 
 friends by pronouncing against Valeria, and enemies 
 by resisting the influences brought to bear upon him. 
 
 He certainly did not expect that his dictum would 
 ever be called into question, or he would never have 
 dared to pronounce it. He had to choose between 
 the weak and the strong, and he did not hesitate. 
 Still he would never of himself have ventured to call 
 such a physician as Dr. Lacelles in consultation. He 
 would have preferred, maybe, to call a man of some 
 reputation, and throw the responsibility off his own 
 shoulders. He was not allowed to. 
 
 Dr. Lacelles was a familiar visitor of Miss Cromo's, 
 and being, according to her, a solemn ass, was admi- 
 rably calculated to sign the document which should 
 put Valeria out of the way. 
 
 Dr. Lacelles was doubtless entirely honest, and 
 certainly not malicious. But he was fond of the 
 marvellous; and he naturally liked to be of some 
 importance in his profession. This was probably the 
 first time in his life that he. had ever been called in 
 consultation, and it is doubtful if his professional 
 services had been required before in any way since 
 his sojourn in the Holy City.
 
 THE WITNESSES. 299 
 
 He talked with Valeria in her delirium, and lis- 
 tened to all the stories that were told him by others. 
 Perhaps he consulted some medical volume. Finally, 
 when, worn to a shadow by three weeks of severe 
 physical suffering badly cured, or not cured at all, the 
 patient was feebly creeping back to life in spite of 
 doctors and visitors, Dr. Lacelles decided that she was 
 hopelessly insane. 
 
 It had a fine sound, that " hopelessly insane." It 
 was striking, and made people stare. And when the 
 poor maniac was known to have a novel at the point 
 of publication, the affair became dramatic, even tragi- 
 cal. If the book should receive attention, it might 
 call the doctors into notice. It was not every doctor 
 who could put a novelist into a lunatic asylum, how- 
 ever he might wish to do so. Then people would 
 be sure to ask him questions about it, and he would 
 have the pleasure of telling a striking story. 
 
 On the whole, such an opportunity of distinguishing 
 himself might never again be offered to him, and he 
 resolved to improve it. He did not get a patient so 
 often as to willingly let one go who he knew was not 
 likely ever to avail herself again of his services. He 
 secured his prize by shutting her up. It was better 
 to have had a crazy patient than not to have had 
 any. 
 
 So much for the star performers, and the people 
 who pulled the wires. 
 
 There was also a chorus. There were indifferent 
 people, who, now they came to think of it, had always 
 found Valeria odd. There must be something morbid 
 in a person who does not appreciate the bliss of 
 receptions, calls, dinners, and tattle. She had prob- 
 ably been queer for a long time. 
 
 It all helped. " Quod non fecerunt barbari, fecenint 
 Barberini." What malice had not done, imbecility 
 finished.
 
 300 BY THE TIBER. 
 
 Many of them pitied Valeria, they even wiped 
 their eyes in speaking of her when it was thought 
 that she might die. They felt themselves to be very 
 charitable toward her ; and, understanding the corpo- 
 ral works of mercy to be an unlimited use of their 
 tongues, they performed that duty with an admirable 
 zeal. 
 
 If she had died, it is probable that she would have 
 had rather a grand funeral, and would have been 
 found to be possessed of many virtues. 
 
 There are persons who are impracticable in this 
 world, but they make such beautiful figures out of it 
 that it seems very bad taste in them not to give their 
 friends the melancholy pleasure of wreathing their 
 cold brows with the corona funebralis. 
 
 As for the consul, his part was to sign the papers. 
 He took for granted that all was right. He knew 
 nothing of the lady except what had been told him ; 
 and since they told him that she was insane, he took 
 for granted that she was. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIX. 
 
 MAKING THE BEST OF IT. 
 
 VALERIA remained in her room the next day, and 
 thought over her position. The one decision 
 that she could arrive at was to make no protest. 
 Everything was very comfortable as long as she did 
 not see those women, and in her own room she was 
 perfectly separated from them. She said nothing, 
 therefore. To her languor and weakness, which made 
 talking difficult, was added the conviction that she 
 had better not talk. 
 
 Miss Pendletou came tc see her the second day,
 
 MAKING THE BEST OF IT, 301 
 
 having learned from the sister that she made no com- 
 plaint, and seemed unaware of the deception that had 
 been practised upon her ; and even to Miss Pendle- 
 ton she made no reproach. She was scarcely sure 
 that the lady deserved any ; for she did not yet know 
 that the lunatic asylum of the Lungara and Villa 
 Barberini were different classes of the same establish- 
 ment. 
 
 Miss Pendleton seemed very anxious that she 
 should be comfortable, and was delighted with her 
 apparent contentment. She reiterated her charges to 
 Valeria not to give herself any trouble, and her prom- 
 ises that everything should be done for her. She 
 promised to send her books to read, and to visit her 
 often. 
 
 Valeria said but little. She was feeling a slight 
 difficulty in breathing, and shivered a little now and 
 then. Her exposure to the rain on coming to this 
 place was bringing back both the fever and conges- 
 tion of the lungs ; and she had added to her cold in 
 going out into the villa that day. Sister Agnes, having 
 had no idea given her of her patient's state of health, 
 had taken no precautions. 
 
 Miss Pendleton went, and the Medical Director of 
 the Asylum came to visit her, and stayed some time. 
 He was a handsome, stately gentleman, and his title 
 suited him. He was a cavalier. 
 
 What did she wish for ? She had but to command. 
 Was she comfortable ? Did she like her room ? Let 
 her say what was lacking, and it should be ordered 
 for her at once. 
 
 Valeria felt more hopeful and secure after this visit. 
 She had little confidence in women, not believing 
 them capable of justice. They might have noble and 
 generous impulses and tender hearts, but their prin- 
 ciples were, in her opinion, very sketchy and pliable. 
 She would never have given to woman the ballot, the
 
 302 BY THE TIBER. 
 
 law, nor the sole direction of any institution whatever 
 where they would have unquestioned power over 
 others. She did not believe in angelic women, though 
 she knew that there were good women. She always 
 suspected an angelic woman to be an illusion, a hypo- 
 crite, or a mere unproven piece of composition which 
 would not stand fire. " No woman has a right to be 
 an angel to anybody but her lover," she said; and, 
 also, " I never saw a perfect woman who had not 
 some serious imperfection hidden in her." Her only 
 divisions of women were into those who listen and 
 peep at keyholes, and those who do not ; and the 
 subdivision of those who do not, into women who are 
 blockheads, and women who have brains. Her ideal 
 woman was an intellectual one, who resolutely minded 
 her own business. 
 
 As for those men whom she did not find either 
 odious or indifferent, she regarded them with a some- 
 what ideal homage. In the shadow of a serious, strong, 
 broad-shouldered man she sat down as contented as a 
 lamb in the shade of a rock at noonday. She had 
 the most tranquil confidence in their power to slay 
 giants, lions, and dragons. 
 
 The entrance of a gentleman on the scene was, 
 therefore, reassuring. 
 
 When he went, her feet were cold and her head 
 hot. Later, she became so cold that she went to bed 
 to warm herself; and when her supper was brought, 
 she could not eat. She was shivering violently. Hot 
 applications were made at once ; but they came too 
 late, 
 
 From that moment every care was taken of her; 
 but she went downward. It was a return of the ill- 
 ness from which she had just begun to recover. 
 
 But the circumstances were different. Here were 
 intelligent and authoritative medical attendance, and 
 good nurses. Nothing that skill or charity could do
 
 MAKING THE BEST OF IT. 303 
 
 was omitted ; and thanks to such care, she was not 
 delirious, though sometimes half unconscious, and in- 
 capable of all mental effort. 
 
 Miss Pendleton came to see her one day with Mrs. 
 Harwood, but she could not talk with them; and 
 they were not allowed to stay long. 
 
 The days dragged wearily, in that most frightful of 
 all pain of suffocation. The doctors themselves became 
 almost discouraged, and Valeria thought that she was 
 going to die. 
 
 " Ask the Director if he thinks that I will ever get 
 well," she said one day to Miss Pendleton, who had 
 come to see her. " I ought to know the truth." 
 
 Miss Pendleton went, and returned with the answer, 
 " He says that you may recover, but that it will take 
 a long time, and a great deal of care." 
 
 A fortnight of misery passed ; then one day life 
 found a point for his lever to rest upon, and lifted, 
 little by little, the weight of suffering. She could sit 
 up in bed, and she wrote a few letters, with the re- 
 luctant consent of Sister Agnes. 
 
 On one of those days Miss Pendleton, who had 
 undertaken all her affairs, and among them the care 
 of her letters, gave her a letter and a magazine from 
 America. The magazine contained a story of hers, 
 and the letter the publisher's check. She indorsed 
 the check, making it payable to Miss Pendleton, and 
 gave it to her. 
 
 " Have you drawn for the other money I told you 
 of?" she asked. "You know I cannot go to the bank. 
 I have written them to pay your draft." 
 
 " Don't trouble yourself with any thoughts of busi- 
 ness, my dear," Miss Pendleton said. " Everything will 
 be done for you. We will see to everything." 
 
 " But it troubles me not to know anything," Valeria 
 said. " Is there any one in my apartment yet ? You 
 said you knew a tenant who would like to have it"
 
 304 BY THE TIBER. 
 
 " I have given up the apartment to the landlord," 
 Miss Pendleton answered, not without a slight air of 
 bracing herself for a possible battle. 
 
 " But the furniture," Valeria said, amazed. 
 
 " I have given that up, reserving some few things 
 that I thought you might like to keep, your candela- 
 bra and the table things." 
 
 " But I had a lease, and I ought to have seen the 
 man," Valeria persisted. " And, besides, there were 
 two or three articles of rare furniture not easily found, 
 and I don't want to lose them." 
 
 " The man does n't want to talk anything about the 
 matter," Miss Pendleton said, telling a falsehood ; for 
 he had asked to see Valeria, and preferred to wait till 
 he could see her. " I have given it all up. I thought 
 it was best." 
 
 Valeria had meant to give up the house, but to do 
 so in her own time and way, and she was stupefied at 
 this high-handed proceeding. 
 
 " You know you said that you wanted to go back 
 to America, and were invited to stay at the convent 
 where Sister Veronica is." 
 
 " I thought of going, but was not decided to," 
 Valeria replied. "I am bound to nothing. I hold 
 myself free to stay or to go, or to live where I may 
 like when I shall be well again." 
 
 "Well, don't think anything about it now," Miss 
 Pendleton said, with soothing affection. " Think only 
 of getting well; and all the rest can be settled after- 
 ward." 
 
 Valeria submitted. She had never dreamed of sus- 
 pecting Miss Pendleton ; she had never dreamed that 
 she was not free, and that she could not leave the 
 
 n3e where she was as soon as she should be out of 
 . What motive could Miss Pendleton have but a 
 charitable one ? None, surely ; and to such charity 
 much might be pardoned. That the affairs of the
 
 MAKING THE BEST OF IT. 305 
 
 Countess Belvedere had any connection with her 
 being brought to this place never occurred to her im- 
 agination. Of the wild stories going about her, she 
 had no conception. She supposed that, having so few 
 acquaintances, no one spoke of her affairs ; and she 
 believed that there was nothing uncommon in her 
 circumstances. 
 
 A day or two after a letter came to her from a 
 friend in Paris to whom she had written as soon as 
 she became aware what sort of place she was in. 
 Her complaiut had been very gentle. " I was very 
 sick, and needed care," she wrote ; "but I think some 
 other place might have been found than a lunatic 
 asylum, or that I might have been left quiet in my 
 own house." 
 
 The reply was an indignant one. " They had no 
 right to put you in such an establishment," her friend 
 wrote. "I have written a letter of expostulation 
 to Mrs. Harwood. You ought to be taken away 
 immediately." 
 
 Valeria wrote at once a soothing reply. "I am 
 taken such good care of here, and every one is so 
 kind, that I think it best to stay till I am quite 
 well." 
 
 Every day her health improved. She could sit up, 
 and she had the promise of going to church on Christ- 
 mas Day. And a few days before Christinas Miss 
 Pendleton came again to see her, accompanied by 
 Madame de la Roche, the superior of the convent 
 where she lived. 
 
 Valeria had known and admired this lady, and ran 
 to kiss her hand with the greatest pleasure when she 
 entered. " How good of you to come ! " she exclaimed. 
 " This makes my ' Merry Christmas.' " 
 
 The superior of the nuns in charge of the Asylum 
 came to see Valeria the same evening, and said that 
 she had talked with her visitors as they went out. 
 20
 
 306 BY THE TIBER. 
 
 "And," she said, "Madame de la Koche said to me, 
 'Why, there is nothing the matter with that lady. 
 Mademoiselle Valerie is perfectly reasonable.' " 
 
 Valeria made no reply. They had said that there 
 was something the matter with her, then; and she had 
 not been believed to have her reason perfectly ! 
 
 From that day she began to take short walks in the 
 grounds, accompanied by Sister Agnes or by Fidelia, 
 and on Christmas morning she went to the chapel to 
 communion, and to the coretto of the nuns for Mass. 
 
 This church-going showed her that the Villa Barbe- 
 rini was but a part of the Lunatic Asylum of the 
 Lungara, to which she had absolutely refused to go. 
 The chapel was in the Lungara, and the long way that 
 led to it revealed everything. 
 
 Passing down the little terraced garden in an angle 
 of the walls close to the casino, they entered a long 
 passage which led over the arch of San Spirito, and 
 connected the two parts of the establishment on the 
 two sides of the street. Arrived at the Tiber side, 
 they entered a labyrinth of dormitories, long, som- 
 bre halls, with no furniture but a double row of white 
 beds down the sides, and an alternate chair and table 
 between them. 
 
 Nothing could be more mournful than these great 
 deserted chambers, tenanted at night by a crowd of 
 disordered brains, a strange, nightmare company of 
 condemned and executed criminals against reason. 
 What cries, what dreams, what mutterings, what 
 wild terrors, must these dim walls have witnessed 
 when the night-lamp threw its pallid ray along those 
 lines of living graves wherein so many a soul lay 
 dead to all but torment ! What gesticulating hands, 
 what eyes peeping wildly from under the pillows, 
 what breaths more terrible than screams ! 
 
 Valeria had heard a story of the men's department 
 of this establishment. A large knife had been left
 
 MAKING THE BEST OF IT. 307 
 
 with a plate, by some oversight, in the long dormitory, 
 where a male nurse slept at either end. When all 
 were asleep, one of the maniacs, softly rising, had 
 fallen upon the nurse nearest to him so suddenly as 
 to prevent any outcry, killed him, cut off his head, 
 and set it in the plate. Going, then, to the other 
 nurse, he wakened him, and showed him the ghastly 
 head. " You see, he is still asleep," he said, pointing 
 to the closed eyes. 
 
 " How dared they put me in such a place ! " thought 
 Valeria, with a sudden blaze of horror and indignation. 
 " How dared they ! " 
 
 The boldness of her committal there stupefied her. 
 She was almost incredulous of it. She looked back 
 through all the time that had elapsed since, in her 
 own house, she had emerged from the darkness of 
 delirium, aud she saw no excuse for such an act. 
 Everything was remembered. She had forgotten 
 nothing. 
 
 The dormitories passed, they came to an iron screen 
 leading to a stairway and a long gallery looking into 
 a court. Here there was a buzzing like the sound of 
 a bee-hive. Poorly dressed women, those of the third 
 class, sat along the sides of the gallery. Below, in 
 the court, a crowd of women wandered about. One 
 wore a crown of straws ; another ran about searching 
 for something which she never found ; a third sat on 
 a bench, and gazed before her with a face of despair ; 
 a fourth laughed like an idiot; there was every 
 form of madness. 
 
 The coretto was a small chapel, in one side of which 
 a grated window looked down on the altar of a little 
 church. A chair was placed for Valeria before this 
 grating, and she tried to assist at the Mass in peace 
 of mind. But it was impossible. All her self-control 
 was necessary to keep the tears back. It revolted her 
 to hear Mass through iron bars, she who had often
 
 308 BY THE TIBER. 
 
 longed to hear it in the open air, and scarcely liked 
 the gilded roof of a basilica over her, or the tossing 
 feathers of a lady's hat between her and the altar. 
 
 Then there was the wretched walk back through 
 the dormitories. What a paradise the garden seemed 
 when they came out into it from the arch of San 
 Spirito ! 
 
 The casino, which joined the wall of the villa on 
 the Lungara side, was near the southern corner of the 
 grounds, and the avenue beginning at the arch ran 
 between narrow gardens at this side, laid in small 
 terraced flats next the wall, but smoothly curved, and 
 rising to the house at the other side. Every beautiful 
 flowering tree and plant had been lavished here, and 
 even now there were flowers. A gigantic pepper-tree 
 hung full of red berries against the windows, and 
 a beautiful palm stood like a fountain arrested in 
 mid air, and turned to a tree, close to the lower 
 veranda. 
 
 Following a foot-path through the shrubbery beside 
 the casino, Valeria reached the garden in front, and 
 seated herself on a bench against the balustrade there. 
 All Rome, from the Castel Sant' Angelo southward, 
 was stretched out before her, not flattened as in many 
 views, but with all its various curves, and its hills and 
 hollows. The Tiber ran past, and glimmered under 
 the iron bridge, and the bridge of San Sisto, and away, 
 away past the palaces and domes and towers that 
 were* laden with history as a toiling brain with 
 thoughts, and weary with their memories, mumbled 
 now through crumbling stones. Here rose the Quirinal 
 with its palace, there the Pincio lifted its leafy coronet, 
 far away the Esquiline showed its soaring campanile, 
 and lower down the Coelian and the Palatine with 
 their gardens, and the melancholy Janiculum a con- 
 fusion of piled and sculptured stone, and gardens, and 
 pines and cypresses. It was glorious; but it was like
 
 MAKING THE BEST OF IT. 309 
 
 all the glory of man, more than half mournful and 
 cruel. 
 
 On the second side of the building enclosing the 
 garden three long windows opened out on a veranda 
 on the ground-floor. These three windows opened 
 from three rooms belonging to the first class. The 
 outer one was the Donna Claudia's, the inner belonged 
 to the Duchess. In the central one the window was 
 almost always closed, and had the blinds drawn 
 together. 
 
 As Valeria sat there, this window was opened from 
 within, and a tall lady, dressed in white, came out and 
 seated herself on the bench at the veranda. She had 
 an air at once of refinement and of suffering. This 
 lady was called the Signora bianca, from her dress. 
 She never spoke to any of the other patients, never 
 went to walk, nor met the others at table. All her 
 time was passed in her room, except that now and 
 then, when the garden was almost deserted, she came 
 out and sat in the sunlight for a moment. She was 
 not insane, though she was nervous and excitable, and 
 an air of mystery surrounded her. The beautiful toi- 
 lets that she had brought with her showed that she 
 had been in fashionable society. She never wore any 
 of them. Summer and winter, she wore nothing but 
 white. She was waiting for a gentleman to whom 
 she was engaged to come and marry her, she said to 
 her attendant; and she had waited there for years. 
 Meantime her long, beautiful hair of loosely curling 
 flax-color was turning white. She spoke Italian with 
 elegance, but seemed to be German. 
 
 Sister Agnes came up from the Community, which, 
 with the kitchens, officers' rooms, chapel, and third- 
 class women patients, was at the other .side of the 
 Lungara. The casino, one might say, was the draw- 
 ing-room of the establishment. All the ladies then 
 came out into the garden for the air. As they ap-
 
 310 BY THE TIBER. 
 
 peared, the iSignora bianco, rose hastily, and retired to 
 her room, closing the Venetian blinds behind her. 
 
 Instantly the scene took a new character. It was 
 beautiful, but it became terrible. For all that beauty 
 of nature and art became at once implacable. It was 
 the vision of Paradise to Dives in hell. The streets 
 stretched away not far below, yet they could not set 
 foot in them. Within sight of them were women who 
 leaned from their windows, and went about as they 
 liked, and complained, maybe, of their lot, not realiz- 
 ing that they had the supreme good of liberty, and a 
 right to themselves. They would have looked on these 
 women shut up here as in some way radically different 
 from themselves, instead of being, many of them, but a 
 step in advance on the path of unreason. These women 
 walked in beautiful gardens, and their faces and their 
 hearts were sad. If they spoke, their words were 
 held as folly. They were not believed even when 
 they told the truth. If they should escape for a mo- 
 ment and run to the gate under the bridge, the porter 
 would not let them pass. The gate was high, and the 
 wall was high, and they could not fly over. If one 
 should steal away for a moment, slip through the long 
 passage over the bridge unseen, go down the stair, and 
 stand at the front gate, with only an iron screen be- 
 tween her and liberty, still she could not pass. She 
 would have to return. If she showed anger, even 
 such anger as a sane person might show, if not wise 
 enough to control herself, she would be locked into 
 her room, and perhaps put in a straight-jacket. When 
 they were conducted to their rooms at night and put 
 to bed, the light was taken away, and the door locked. 
 They were never lost sight of. It was the duty of the 
 attendants to keep them always in view, and to know 
 everything that they did. They had no privacy. 
 The same watchfulness which is necessary for the 
 most cunning and dangerous maniac is necessary
 
 MAKING THE BEST OF IT. 311 
 
 for her who shows little or no sign of mental disease. 
 It is assumed that every person placed in such a 
 house is placed there because she may do some harm 
 to others or to herself, and although there may be 
 no indications of any such danger, they are bound 
 to look out for and expect them. One can never 
 calculate surely upon the vagaries of an insane 
 person. 
 
 Moreover, it is not solely the indications of real in- 
 sanity which are commented upon and noted in such 
 a place ; but every little characteristic word or act, 
 every mark of originality, every sign of anger or impa- 
 tience which a free person may freely show unsus- 
 pected, all are so many proofs of insanity. The 
 nurse may be angry ; the doctor may be angry ; the 
 patient, no. You try to conceal some innocent affair 
 of your own, from delicacy, or from a natural pride or 
 reserve ; and you are held to be cunning. The affair 
 is searched out, as it may be something dangerous. 
 By a strange sort of reasoning, the very desire to leave 
 the asylum is held to be a proof of unsound mind, and 
 contentment a sign of improvement. Precisely the 
 acts and words natural to a sane person whom some 
 plot has entrapped into an asylum of this kind would 
 be held by one believing the person to be insane as 
 proofs of insanity. 
 
 No crime is easier to commit against an unpro- 
 tected person than to accuse him of insanity, prove 
 him insane, put him into an asylum, and there drive 
 him mad. The very accusation is strong to bring 
 about its own justification ; and the ignorance or dis- 
 honesty of physicians is seconded by the ignorance of 
 the public. 
 
 People study books, but they do not study their 
 neighbors nor themselves ; and a thousand things in 
 their own conduct or the conduct of those about them 
 are passed over without the slightest notice, which
 
 312 BY THE TIBER. 
 
 in a person whom they believed or suspected to be 
 insane would be to their minds the most palpable 
 eccentricities. 
 
 Let any one watch his dearest friend for one day, 
 trying to imagine that some one wishes to prove that 
 friend to be insane, and 'see how many times dur- 
 ing the day he will tremble lest the proofs may be 
 found. 
 
 It cannot be expected that the persons having im- 
 mediate charge of the insane should be wiser than 
 their day and generation. The physicians are edu- 
 cated to their work ; but the nurses, often ignorant 
 people, are not. And, unfortunately, it is in the 
 power of the nurse, by his very ignorance, to preju- 
 dice the physician against the patient. 
 
 We are all familiar with the story of the rustic 
 neighborhood which set down Wordsworth and his 
 friends as a company of lunatics. Who but lunatics 
 would wander about at night, gazing at the stars ? 
 To the vulgar and the material, fancy and imagina- 
 tion are a sort of insanity. These people have a term 
 of their own ; it is, " cracked." And the word is not 
 so badly chosen. The one they presume to criticise 
 has cracked the shell wherein they lie in complacent 
 darkness. One may fancy that the grub may call the 
 butterfly " cracked." 
 
 Valeria was thinking of these things as she sat and 
 looked at the patients : Sor Aguesina of the yellow 
 hair, forgetting the wrongs of the Pope in a new 
 i pattern of crochet ; the Duchess, happy over a journal 
 of fashion ; Donna Claudia, walking to and fro, swing- 
 ing her handkerchief by the corner ; the Donna Faus- 
 tina, making a bit of tatting into which she wove a 
 straw and some raisin-stems saved from her yester- 
 day's dinner ; and the Signora Eleanor, a young wo- 
 man who had gone mad on the death of her husband, 
 scowling by herself in a corner, and refusing to speak
 
 MAKING THE BEST OF IT. 313 
 
 to any one. And she was among these ! They were 
 all crazy, and they were her companions ! 
 
 Were beautiful flowers and trees and fountains, 
 and a panorama of Rome rolled out from the walls 
 that surrounded her, a compensation ? 
 
 No; but they were a consolation and a preserv- 
 ative. 
 
 Valeria was settling in her own mind what she 
 should do ; and she was asking herself some questions 
 that made her tremble. She felt now that she could 
 not have been placed in this house as a person en- 
 tirely in her right mind. She believed herself free to 
 go away when she would, now that she was well and 
 gaining strength; but she was sure that she must 
 have been committed to the place with some sort of 
 ceremony. Every restriction possible had been re- 
 moved from her. Since the first night or two, her 
 chamber door had not been locked ; she was free to 
 stay alone all day, and to go to walk in the villa 
 when she would, though always attended. They 
 said that she was outside the rules. The Director 
 had told her that any time when she wished to go out 
 into the city for a walk, or to visit her friends, accom- 
 panied by a maid, he would write a pass for her. She 
 felt herself in a sort of liberty, as much liberty, in 
 fact, as could be given to any one in an establish- 
 ment, where some regulations were imperative ; and 
 she had no anxiety for the future. But she shud- 
 dered at the past. 
 
 What, she asked herself, would they have done on 
 the day she came there, if, when left alone outside 
 the gate, she had had a misgiving, and gone away, 
 and tried to return to her own house ? She had posi- 
 tively refused to go to the Lungara asylum, and they 
 had dared to deceive her by taking her to another 
 door of the same establishment. They had been bold 
 in everything. They had given up her lease, which
 
 314 BY THE TIBER. 
 
 they must have searched her papers to find, and 
 arranged everything in their own way, because they 
 " thought it best." And this, when they could have 
 no smallest authority in her affairs except such as 
 she gave them. She was entirely her own mistress, 
 and accountable to no one in the world, except to the 
 laws of the land. No law could have placed her here 
 unless she had been complained of to the police as a 
 disturber of the community, and dangerous to herself 
 and her neighbors. They had taken the law into 
 their own hands. 
 
 And what would have been done to her if, on first 
 knowing what sort of people she was among, two 
 days after coming, she had insisted on leaving imme- 
 diately ? If they had refused to allow her to go, or if 
 she had been forced to enter on the first day, could 
 she have answered for herself ? Could she be sure 
 that she would not have resisted with all her strength ? 
 Resistance would have been madness, and they would 
 have used force. Nothing but her ignorance on the 
 first occasion, and her self-control and silence on the 
 second, had saved her. Remembering now how ner- 
 vous Miss Pendleton had been, and how she had hur- 
 ried away, peculiarities which even in her miserable 
 weakness she had observed at the time, she knew 
 that it was meant that she should enter and that she 
 should stay. 
 
 While she sat there, Sister Agnes came to her with 
 a letter. 
 
 " Miss Pendleton sent it to you this morning," she 
 said. " It was left at your apartment." 
 
 It was a foreign letter written by the editor of a 
 monthly magazine, who wanted her to write him a se- 
 rial, and would be glad to have it as soon as possible. 
 
 Valeria smiled. " I wonder what he would say if 
 he knew where I am," she said to the sister, to whom 
 ehe communicated the news.
 
 MAKING THE BEST OF IT. 315 
 
 The Director and the Superior had waived their 
 right of opening letters in her case, and she acknowl- 
 edged their politeness by translating the contents of 
 them to the sister. 
 
 The little incident was brightening, and started her 
 thoughts on another train. 
 
 " My house is given up, and I do not care to go 
 among strangers just yet," she said to herself. " The 
 worst is over. I am here, and wheii in my room I 
 am very comfortable. They say that I have been en- 
 tered for three months. There are six weeks more. 
 I will make the best of it, and stay the rest of the 
 time. I can write this story here, and I can study 
 the life of an asylum. It is n't every one who has 
 the opportunity to examine a lunatic asylum from the 
 inside. All is grist that comes to my mill. We '11 
 live and conquer, Valeria mia. And we will take 
 good care not to trust any one too much again, so long 
 as we have breath." 
 
 A carriage with a bay horse and a white one came 
 down the avenue, and stopped at the steps. The back 
 part was shaped like a great box, and there was a 
 hood over the driver's seat. Two servant-girls came 
 out of the casino, and went down to take out large tin 
 boxes containing the dinner. It was cooked in the 
 great kitchen below in the Lungara, and brought 
 round in the carriage through the villa. 
 
 Valeria went up to her room, and sat looking out 
 at the pine-trees, and at the tall eucalyptus that 
 swung its slender branches against the bars of her 
 window. 
 
 " Our Lord had his Merry Christmas in a stable," 
 she thought, and was thankful that it was no worse.
 
 316 BY THE TIBER. 
 
 CHAPTER XXX. 
 
 UNMASKING. 
 
 VALERIA began at once upon her serial, a 
 slight thing, since, at best, it was impossible to 
 write well in such a place. In her own apartment all 
 was tranquil, she was perfectly served and kindly 
 treated by all, from highest to lowest ; but she could 
 not go out without encountering the insane, and the 
 shock always set her vibrating. Th re was ever that 
 terrible bridge to pass in going from her own room to 
 the villa ; and though she might fly over it like Tarn 
 O'Shanter from the witches, some taint of that wild 
 company always remained to spoil her first breath of 
 pure air, and first moments before that grand pano- 
 rama, or her first hour in the tranquil privacy of her 
 own chamber. 
 
 The only employment in which she could really 
 forget herself was in studying the place and the peo- 
 ple. To look at them, thinking, This is my home and 
 there are my companions, was intolerable ; but to 
 look at them as a new, strange book which she was 
 to read, was interesting, though still painful 
 
 The site of the Manicomio of Rome is one of great 
 interest, even amid objects of such rich historical 
 value as are everywhere to be found in that incom- 
 parable city. 
 
 The arch of San Spirito, which, by means of a cov- 
 ered passage, connects the two parts of the establish- 
 ment on the two sides of the Lungara, was built by 
 Pope Leo IV. when he built the walls around the 
 Vatican, enclosing the territory which was named, 
 after him, the Leonine City. It was the principal 
 one of the six gates, and was then called the Porta di
 
 UNMASKING. 317 
 
 Borgo. This was about the year 850. Early in the 
 sixteenth century the Farnese Pope, Paul III., when he 
 constructed the bastions of the Borgo, ordered a new 
 gate to be made by Antonio da Sangallo. But some 
 difficulties put in the way of the artist by Michael 
 Angelo retarded the work, and he died before it was 
 completed. When, early in the seventeenth century, 
 Urban VIII. removed the wall between Porta san Pan- 
 crazio and Porta Cavalleggieri, in order to include the 
 rest of the Janiculurn in the Leonine City, the name 
 of the gate was changed from Porta di Borgo to Porta 
 San Spirito, from the near hospital. It remained use- 
 less, however, from this time, as did also the Porta 
 Settimiana. 
 
 The covered passage over the gate of San Spirito 
 was made by Pius IX. when he purchased the Villa 
 Barberini and the Villa Gabrielli, farther back on the 
 Janiculum, to add to the confined and gloomy Asylum 
 in the Lungara. 
 
 The Villa Barberini was built by Urban VIII., a 
 Barberini from Florence. This Pope, says an Italian 
 writer, united Florentine elegance to Roman grandeur, 
 and had a particular liking for sumptuous villas. As 
 pope he began the magnificent Barberini place ; while 
 yet cardinal, he bought the Villa Visconti at Castel 
 Gandolfo, and embellished it, and built the Villa Bar- 
 berini, with both palace and casino, between the Porta 
 San Spirito and the Porta Cavalleggieri ; and after he 
 became pope, he also built the papal palace at Castel 
 Gandolfo. 
 
 This palace near St. Peter's was not only for his 
 pleasure, but also for his convenience when there 
 should be great functions at that basilica ; and there 
 exists to-day in that locality, close to the Colonnade, a 
 defaced and squalid palace used for the manufacture 
 of beer, which has over the principal entrance the 
 arms of Urban VIII., the tiara, with the Barberini
 
 318 BY THE TIBER. 
 
 bees. The gardens extended back of this, up the hill, 
 and contemporary writers give a glowing picture of its 
 groves and fountains, of the riches in pictures and 
 vases and majolica plates and basins of both palace 
 and casino, and of the superb views caught through 
 its flowering trees. 
 
 In building for Urban VIII. there were discovered 
 the ruins of elegant baths, of pavements, and other 
 remains of an ancient villa supposed, from an inscrip- 
 tion found there, to have belonged to the poet Celio, 
 of the time of Augustus. This house in which we 
 find Valeria was the casino built by Urban VIII. ; and 
 in the excavations under her window looking toward 
 St. Peter's, were found some of the same ancient 
 ruins discovered in his time. 
 
 The site of the palace near St. Peter's was the same 
 as that of the palace of Nero (palatiolum}, from which 
 it is said that the emperor beheld the sufferings of the 
 Christian martyrs in the Circo di Cayo, opposite his 
 windows, in what is now the piazza of St. Peter's. 
 
 The casino of the villa, when Valeria first went 
 there, had the arms of Urban VIII. painted on the 
 ceilings of the anteroom and the long drawing-room ; 
 but they were afterward painted over, in repairing the 
 house. Outside, along the cornice under the roof, are 
 the Barberini bees carved in stone. 
 
 The bastions of Paul III. were strengthened by 
 Urban VIII. ; and one glance at those dark precipices 
 of stone-work will show what a formidable fortress 
 the P>arberini family had when the death of the Pope 
 left Rome in that lawless state which used to prevail 
 during an interregnum, and when the jealousy which 
 their prosperity of more than twenty years' duration 
 had excited, if not resentment for any wrongs which 
 they might have committed, had opportunity for 
 revenge. 
 
 It is now about fifteen years since Pius IX. bought
 
 UNMASKING. 319 
 
 the villas Barberini and Gabrielli, and built the pas- 
 sage over the gate of San Spirito, thus making, per- 
 haps, the largest establishment of the kind in the 
 world. 
 
 The casino of Villa Gabrielli, and two new buildings 
 in the grounds, are assigned to the men, and Villa 
 Barberini, with the buildings attached to it, to the 
 women ; and there are also separate quarters for men 
 and women in the lower buildings. There are three 
 classes in each, and the most excellent order is pre- 
 served. 
 
 Some amusement is provided for all the classes. A 
 band has been organized among the men, who some- 
 times go down to play to the third class in the Lungara; 
 a piano recital is given to the ladies of the casino 
 twice a week, and the Deputy in charge gives them 
 all occasionally a festa, especially in Carnival time. 
 Besides this, walking in the villa grounds is encour- 
 aged ; and these grounds are free to all classes, though 
 no person can walk out without an attendant. Three 
 times a week a carriage comes to take the ladies of 
 the casino out for a drive in the city and environs. 
 Formerly there was a livery ; but they have had the 
 good taste to lay it aside for the carriage. It is worn 
 now only by the porters and male nurses. 
 
 Those of the third class who can be trusted to work 
 are employed. The women wash, iron, weave in the 
 Tessenda, and even do housework ; the men work in 
 the gardens, and perform various services about the 
 place. The sum paid for their keeping is very small, 
 only fifty lire (about ten dollars) a month', and no 
 remuneration is therefore made them for their labor, 
 except some little indulgence, perhaps an extra dish 
 at table. 
 
 The Medical Staff is admirably arranged. It con- 
 sists of a Medical Director, and four regular assistants, 
 two for the men, and two for the women. These four
 
 320 BY THE TIBER. 
 
 make their visits every day, and oftener if necessary. 
 Of these two couples, one of each is fixed, the other 
 attends alternate three months on the men and the 
 women. This alternation lasts two years, when, if the 
 physician has not a fixed appointment, he retires, leav- 
 ing his name on the books for a vacancy. No one 
 receives an appointment who has not served two years 
 in alternate attendance on both men and women. 
 Besides the list of those who have thus received their 
 diploma, there is another list of candidates for their 
 vacant places. 
 
 The highest officer is a Deputy appointed by the 
 government. He is not a resident ; but the present 
 Deputy (Tommasini) is a daily visitor, who may come 
 in at any hour, and takes pains to drop in when least 
 expected, keeping a strict watch over everything, 
 severe if he detects the slightest neglect of duty, but 
 kind and very much beloved by the patients. 
 
 But what interested Valeria more than the mere 
 magnitude and direction of this great establishment 
 was the patients themselves. It seemed to her that 
 this kindness in the treatment of the insane was but 
 one step, though a great one, out of the barbarism of 
 the past in Europe and America, and that the time 
 might come when humanity and charity would find 
 some means of curing those diseased minds in which 
 the disease is not a temporary effect of physical illness. 
 All that can be done for health and bodily comfort, 
 and to keep the patient tranquil and cheerful, is done 
 in this Manicomio ; but there is no time for psycho- 
 logical experiments, even if there were persons edu- 
 cated to make them. Nature must first make such 
 nurses, for it is the nurse's work, not the doctor's, 
 and grace must confirm them. The nurse is a far 
 more important person in a lunatic asylum than the 
 doctor, and should never be a vulgar and coarse per- 
 son, and never an excitable one.
 
 UNMASKING. 321 
 
 It is said that an insane person thinks every one 
 about him insane; and it is no wonder; for the manner 
 in which people usually treat an insane person would 
 be insanity it' addressed to a sane one. The patient, 
 not believing himself insane, perceives this strange- 
 ness. The vague and careless answer, the evasions, 
 the promises made in order to soothe and never meant 
 to be fulfilled, the utter absence of any appeal to the 
 reason, the disregard of reiterated prayers and re- 
 quests, all these are frequently unnecessary and 
 injurious. Few or none of the insane are altogether 
 insane, and they are capable of telling the truth. 
 Their complaints may not be reasonable, but they 
 may be a distorted image of a real grievance, and 
 should sometimes receive attention. All of them think 
 that they are the victims of a great wrong ; but that 
 is no proof that there may not be such a victim while 
 the laws regarding their committal are so criminally 
 negligent. No murderer is condemned unheard, no 
 vilest criminal is executed privately without a warn- 
 ing. But the unfortunate who is insane, or supposed 
 to be, is hidden away without defence. If he is seen, 
 afterwards arid talked with, there is ever between him 
 and the spectator the wall of his supposed or real in- 
 sanity. He talks reasonably ? What of that ? They 
 all talk reasonably sometimes. He wants to go away ? 
 They all want to go away. He says that there is a 
 plot against him ? It is the old story. He begs you 
 to have his case investigated, or to take a letter out 
 for him ? They all want justice, and to send out 
 letters. It is not permitted to send letters out. In 
 short, there is nothing that the victim of a plot can do 
 that an insane person has not already done. 
 
 There should be a jury for the insane as well as for 
 the sane. It should be remembered that they are un- 
 fortunate, not wicked, and that their incarceration is 
 more terrible in itself and in its effects than that of
 
 322 BY THE TIBER. 
 
 any criminal. They should be visited and asked to 
 say why condemnation of worse than death should 
 not be passed upon them. Nor is some agitation any 
 proof against them. Their situation would naturally 
 produce it. If undeserved, no horror could be greater, 
 no insult more unpardonable. 
 
 Valeria found one exception to this rule of victims 
 in an old man of the third class, who helped to bring 
 up the supper through the bridge. For the carriage 
 came only with the dinner. 
 
 She was seated in a great swing in one of the little 
 flowery terraces as he came up. The gardener had 
 given her a beautiful cane, cutting the dry leaves 
 from the glistening yellow stalk, and leaving a faint 
 ring of green above each knot, and she was dreamily 
 pushing herself to and fro with it, and reading a news- 
 paper, when she saw this old man looking through 
 the fence at her. 
 
 "Well? "she said. 
 
 He pulled off his cap. 
 
 " How do you do ? " she asked. 
 
 He shook his head. " I 'm crazy," he said. 
 
 " Oh, no ! " she replied. " If you were crazy, you 
 would n't know it." 
 
 " Yes ; I am crazy," he persisted mournfully. " I 
 can't remember anything but the Ave Maria. I can 
 say that ; but I can't think. I don't know anything. 
 I had a sickness, and I am crazy." 
 
 " He is saner than I am," she thought with a smile. 
 " For if I am queer, I do not know it." 
 
 A month wore away, and Valeria began to think of 
 finding an apartment for herself; and one day when 
 she was out driving with the nurse, she glanced at the 
 houses where there were notices of rooms to let. 
 
 " I am searching for an apartment," she remarked. 
 " If I find a place that seems pleasant, I shall go in 
 and see it."
 
 UNMASKING. 323 
 
 Nothing more was said. 
 
 They returned to the Manicomio, supper was 
 brought up, and at her usual hour she went to 
 bed. 
 
 A few minutes after, just as she was dropping 
 asleep, she seemed to hear some one lock the door on 
 the outside. 
 
 The sound was rather in her heart than in her ears. 
 But it was impossible to sleep with that doubt, and 
 she rose to reassure herself. 
 
 The door was locked on the outside. 
 
 Can the reader imagine how terrible this might be ? 
 It was not the mere locking of the door, which could 
 not well be more, in ordinary circumstances, than ah 
 inconvenience ; as, except in case of sickness or fire, 
 she would not wish to leave her chamber in the night. 
 The terror was in the reason for locking it. It meant 
 that now, after having had full liberty for weeks, she 
 was an object of suspicion, and that something had 
 occurred to make them curtail that liberty. And this 
 might be only a beginning. She had seen how utterly 
 worthless are the judgments of most people when it 
 is a question of one charged with a mania, or a slight 
 aberration of mind ; and for the first time since she 
 recovered from the shock of finding herself in an asy- 
 lum, she realized how unsafe it was for her to be 
 there. 
 
 She thought over all the incidents of the day, and 
 tried to discover what she might have done that could 
 seem strange. It was her habit, while writing, to 
 rise and walk to and fro, now and then, to relieve the 
 fatigue of long sitting, and sometimes, while walking, 
 she read or repeated a page that she had written. 
 
 The Donna Claudia and the Donna Faustina walked 
 to and fro declaiming. Had they put her in the same 
 category ? 
 
 Then, in the garden that day, she had pointed out
 
 324 BY THE TIBER. 
 
 the variety of clouds, for a storm was passing off, 
 and settled fine weather coming in, and had told 
 the names of the different classes of vapors. 
 
 The nurses might think that only an insane person 
 would dream of naming the clouds. 
 
 At last she recollected what she had said to Fidelia 
 about the apartment she was looking for. Nothing 
 seemed so likely as that to be the cause of tbis strange 
 precaution. She had not thought it necessary to 
 speak to any one of her intention, meaning to seek an 
 early opportunity to talk with the Medical Director 
 about it. 
 
 No sleep visited her eyes that night. She had not 
 slept when she heard the nurse who made her rounds 
 at five o'clock in the morning, approaching her room. 
 The girl unlocked the door and entered. 
 
 " What is the meaning of my door having been 
 locked last night ? " Valeria demanded, the moment 
 she entered. 
 
 The girl professed to know nothing about it. She 
 had come to the door in the evening, she said, and 
 found it locked. Perhaps it was done by mistake. 
 
 " It is a very strange mistake," Valeria said, " and 
 I hope it will not be made again. I am out of every- 
 body's hearing, and I might have been sick in the 
 night. I consider it a very strange proceeding." 
 
 The girl was as simply ignorant as only a well- 
 trained Italian servant can be. 
 
 Later came Sister Agnes, with a glass of milk that 
 she always brought in the morning. Valeria put 
 the same question to her, and she made the same 
 reply. She thought that the door was locked by 
 mistake. 
 
 Valeria repeated what she had already said to the 
 nurse. 
 
 " And do you think, Sister Agnes, that it is neces- 
 sary to lock my door ? " she asked.
 
 UNMASKING. 325 
 
 " Certainly not ! And you know that it has never 
 been done before," the sister replied. 
 
 Later in the day Valeria had a visit from a monk, 
 a man as honest and simple as he was learned, and 
 whom she had known ever since she came to Home. 
 
 "How did you find the signora to-day?" Sister 
 Agnes asked him, when Valeria had left the two to- 
 gether a moment. 
 
 "Just as I have always found her ever since I first 
 knew her," he said. " I see no difference in her." 
 
 "She was excited this morning," the sister re- 
 marked. 
 
 When Valeria was again with Don Giorgio, walk- 
 ing in the garden, he repeated to her what the sister 
 had said, and she explained the reason of her ex- 
 citement, or more literally, her disquiet ; for the nun 
 had said inquietata. 
 
 " Do you wonder at it ? " she asked. " And I was 
 no more disturbed than any other person would have 
 been in the circumstances. You see, Don Giorgio, 
 that, once a person is in a place like this, the simplest 
 things they may do are suspected. I have seen both 
 Sister Agnes and the doctor more angry than I was 
 this morning, and for a less cause ; and I don't mean 
 to blame them in saying it. The only difference 
 is that they can resent annoyances, and I cannot. 
 You have been very good in telling me this, but do 
 not you see that an unfriendly or even a stupid 
 person might have made a great deal out of it to do 
 me harm? Oh, I am not safe here! There could 
 grow up about me a cloud of nothings just like this, 
 which would be enough to ruin me in the end." 
 
 Later in the day Valeria asked to see the Director. 
 He had always been very kind to her, and she had a 
 great respect for him. 
 
 " In what can I serve you, Madamigella ? " he asked 
 pleasantly, drawing a chair near hers.
 
 326 BY THE TIBER. 
 
 " The three months for which I was entered here 
 will soon expire, Signor Cavaliere," she said ; " and I 
 would like to go away." 
 
 " You would like to go away ? " he repeated. 
 
 " Can you wonder at that ? Of course I have been 
 taken excellent care of, and you have all been very 
 kind. I am grateful for that, but " 
 
 " I understand," he interrupted. " Of course it is 
 not the place for you. Only, as it is now mid- 
 winter, and you have twice had congestion of the 
 lungs, you must be very careful. Where do you pro- 
 pose to go ? " 
 
 She told him her plans. 
 
 " I would not advise you to do so," the Director 
 said. " You could never be sure that a private family 
 would suit you. I would counsel you to go among 
 foreigners whose customs and ways would be the 
 same as your own. I know a pleasant French pension 
 here, where you might be comfortable. I am ac- 
 quainted with the family who keep the house, and 
 with several of the inmates of the house. I will 
 speak to Madame L. about it to-day. I am going 
 there. Shall I do so ? " 
 
 Valeria scarcely liked a boarding-house; but she 
 liked still less to slight the advice of one whose 
 judgment she had reason to rely on ; and she con- 
 sented. 
 
 " Miss Pendleton will have to come to see me," the 
 Director proceeded. "As she consigned you here, it is 
 necessary that she should receive you." 
 
 " Must I have any ceremony in order to go out ? " 
 exclaimed Valeria. 
 
 "There are rules," the Director said gently, "and no 
 matter what the state of the person may be, the rules 
 must be observed. Some one must receive the person 
 going out, and be responsible for her support, and that 
 she is placed in a proper home."
 
 UNMASKING. 327 
 
 " But it is a mere form in my case. I support my- 
 self, and I can take care of myself." 
 
 "It is, however, a form which we cannot omit," 
 was the reply. 
 
 " And," he added, " I have another counsel to give 
 you, if you permit me. It seems to me that you have 
 had too many acquaintances. It would be better for 
 you to know but few persons, and those, friends on 
 whom you can rely." 
 
 "Why, Signer Cavaliere," she exclaimed, "I have 
 lived the life of a hermit in Rome. I do not know 
 twenty persons. If I had had a large circle of ac- 
 qaintances, I should never have been brought here. 
 Some one would have prevented it." 
 
 He regarded her with a look of surprise. "A great 
 many persons interest themselves in you," he said. 
 
 " I do not interest myself in them," Valeria replied, 
 beginning to feel uneasy. 
 
 " What could he have meant ? " she thought when 
 he had gone. " Why did n't I ask him ? But he 
 would n't have told me, probably. No matter ; let it 
 go. I can't stop to worry over every shadow." And 
 she put the subject out of her mind. 
 
 The next morning he came again. 
 
 "Madame L. has some vacant rooms," he said, "and 
 will show them to you when you go. Let me know 
 when you wish to see them, and I will write the 
 pass for you. Would you like to go to-morrow ? " 
 
 " If you please; and a thousand thanks!" 
 
 The next morning, the pass was sent up to her. It 
 was impossible to go out without one, no matter how 
 well she might be. It was one of the forms which 
 could not be dispensed with as long as a person had 
 not been regularly discharged from the Manicomio; 
 and it gave her but little trouble, as she seldom wished 
 to go out. 
 
 Her first visit that day was to Mrs. Harwood, who
 
 328 BY THE TIBER. 
 
 met her with the utmost cordiality. But when Vale- 
 ria told her plans, she observed that her listener's 
 face clouded over. But no comment or opposition was 
 made, and though a little disappointed, she took her 
 leave without any suspicion. 
 
 From Mrs. Harwood she went to the convent where 
 Miss Pendleton boarded, and was received with open 
 arms. Miss Pendleton was all " my dears," and 
 smiles. But again, when she mentioned what she 
 was about to do, the smiles died away. 
 
 " I don't know what we can do," Miss Pendleton 
 said, with the air of a person who contemplates an 
 immense difficulty. " I will see. Perhaps we can get 
 you a place somewhere." 
 
 " But I am not going ' somewhere,' " Valeria said. 
 " I am going to Madame L.'s. So you need not give 
 yourself the slightest trouble about the matter. I 
 will see to all that myself. But the Director says 
 that, as you consigned me there, you will have to 
 receive me; and he would like to see you. I am 
 annoyed at being in a place where it requires so much 
 ceremony for me to get out." 
 
 It was her first intimation of displeasure at having 
 been taken to the Manicomio, and was uttered in a 
 tone to show her displeasure. It seemed to her that, 
 after more than two months of silence regarding an 
 act which looked to her every day more high-handed 
 and outrageous, they should make haste to liberate 
 her the moment she asked for liberty. 
 
 " I thought that you would like to stay there till 
 spring, and then go to America," Miss Pendleton said. 
 
 " I may or may not go to America ; but I do 
 not wish to remain in a lunatic asylum till next 
 spring," Valeria replied. "It is an insult to me to 
 propose it." 
 
 " But they don't call it a lunatic asylum here," 
 said Miss Peudleton. " They call it a casa di salute."
 
 UNMASKING. 329 
 
 ** They call it a casa di salute when they want to 
 coax persons into it, and a casa dei pazzi when they 
 have got them in. You 're ' a little nervous ' when 
 you consent to go, and ' mad ' when you are shut up. 
 But the name makes no difference. It is a lunatic 
 asylum, inhabited by mad people, and it is an insult 
 to expect me to stay there. To think that I cannot 
 step into the street without a written pass !' 
 
 " We are none of us free," Miss Pendleton said. 
 " I cannot always go out when I like, and we have 
 all of us some restraints. Try to be patient." 
 
 " There is no comparison ! " said Valeria indig- 
 nantly. " I am not quite free, even when I have my 
 liberty, any more than you. It is absurd to compare 
 the restraints of a lunatic asylum to the ordinary 
 restraints of life." 
 
 Their conversation was interrupted by the entrance 
 of Madame de la Roche. 
 
 Valeria rose to meet her, and asked permission to 
 kiss her. 
 
 " De tout mon cceur ! " said Madame, embracing 
 her. 
 
 " Don't let 's say anything to her of what we have 
 been saying," Miss Pendleton murmured hastily. 
 
 Madame was very deaf, and heard nothing ; and 
 Valeria went away without having mentioned the 
 subject to her, though she wished to do so. 
 
 "You have seen Miss Pendleton?" the Director 
 asked when she entered. 
 
 " Yes ; and I think that she will come to talk with 
 you soon. We were interrupted. I was too late to 
 go to Madame L. afterward, for it would have been 
 the hour of their luncheon, and our dinner. But I 
 would like to go to-morrow, if you please." 
 
 " Certainly ! " he replied. " I have given orders that 
 you are to be free to do whatever you please. You 
 can go out when you like."
 
 330 BY THE TIBER. 
 
 The next day was rainy in the morning, and 
 Valeria did not go out. The second day was Sunday, 
 and in the afternoon Miss Pendleton came to see 
 her. 
 
 Valeria received her cordially, believing that she 
 had come thus promptly to see the Director. 
 
 But Miss Pendleton did not mention it, and seemed 
 in a hurry to go away. Her usimlly sweet and smil- 
 ing manner was quite changed. She sat at some 
 distance from Valeria, in a chair close to the door. 
 
 " Have you seen the Director ? " Valeria asked 
 at length, after waiting in vain for her visitor to 
 mention the subject which alone could now interest 
 her. 
 
 " No," was the hesitating reply ; " he had gone 
 away." 
 
 Valeria was silent. 
 
 " It will soon be time to pay for yon again here," 
 Miss Pendleton said. "You know it must be paid 
 three mouths in advance." 
 
 " But I am not going to be paid for again," Valeria 
 exclaimed in astonishment. " I have already told you 
 that I am going to leave this place on the eighteenth 
 of next month. I shall have stayed too long in stay- 
 ing three months." 
 
 " But what will you do for money ? " Miss Pendle- 
 ton said, rising, and showing a slight anger. 
 
 " The same money that pays for me here will pay 
 in another place," Valeria said. " I have drawn for 
 money, and never received it, though the draft was 
 given almost six months ago. I shall have money 
 now every month from my serial. And there is my 
 new book. I shall have enough after a while." 
 
 "You haven't any now," Miss Pendleton said, with 
 a shade of insolence, and that little vindictive tight- 
 ening of the lips which, through all her smiles, Vale- 
 ria had always felt was possible to them. " And you
 
 UNMASKING. 331 
 
 can do nothing without money." She opened the 
 door. " I must go. It is late," she said, and went 
 out into the corridor. 
 
 Valeria followed her, smitten with a sudden trem- 
 bling and terror. " I am sorry that I left my house ! " 
 she exclaimed. "I am sorry that I ever trusted 
 myself in your hands." 
 
 Miss Pendleton went down-stairs, and Valeria fol- 
 lowed her, and stopped her in the anteroom, which 
 was vacant. 
 
 " You must go to the Director and liberate me, as 
 you put me into his hands," she said. " You are too 
 bold to treat me so. I will not stay here after the 
 three months are out." 
 
 "You cannot go out without money," Miss Pendle- 
 ton said. " If you stay here, everything will be done 
 for you ; if you go out, nothing will be done for you." 
 And her face showed that if Valeria went out every- 
 thing would be done against her. 
 
 " I do not wish to have anything done for me ! " 
 Valeria exclaimed. " There has been too much done 
 already. I have been betrayed. I should have got 
 well in my own house. I was able to walk out the 
 second day after I came here." 
 
 " You were sick a month here/' Miss Pendleton 
 retorted. 
 
 " I was sick three weeks ; but I took the sickness 
 here." 
 
 " No, you did n't ! " exclaimed the other rudely. 
 
 " I did ; and they all know it. Besides, that 
 makes no difference. I am well now, and I want 
 rny liberty." 
 
 Miss Pendleton's mask of smiles and sweet speeches 
 was quite off now, and the vulgar, cruel woman stood 
 revealed. 
 
 " You are not well ! " she cried out. " Your head 
 is n't right."
 
 332 BY THE TIBER. 
 
 Valeria recoiled. It was not possible to answer in 
 words to such brutality. Helpless, terrified, insulted, 
 she burst into tears. 
 
 " You can stay here till spring, and then go to 
 America," Miss Pendleton added, seeming to think 
 that she had conquered. 
 
 " Who are you, to tell me when I shall come and 
 go?" Valeria replied, sobbing, yet fired with anger. 
 " I will appeal to the American Consul for protec- 
 tion." 
 
 " You may appeal to him," was the cool reply. 
 
 " I certainly shall. 
 
 The other looked at her with a taunting smile. 
 " Where will you go ? " 
 
 " I will go into the street sooner than be shut up 
 here ! " Valeria cried with imprudent heat 
 
 Miss Peudleton burst into laughter. 
 
 Sister Agnes appeared, and Miss Pendleton hurried 
 away. 
 
 " Oh, why did I trust her ? W r hy did I put myself 
 into her power ? " cried Valeria, while the sister was 
 trying to soothe her. " I had an impression from the 
 very first that there was something hard and strange 
 hidden under her affected sweetness. It was n't nat- 
 ural. She has betrayed me. Oh, what shall I do ? " 
 
 The confident insolence of her enemy showed a 
 consciousness of strength. She would never have 
 dared to be so brutal if she had not an assurance of 
 support. Yet what that support was, Valeria had no 
 conception. She could understand nothing. All was 
 confusion.
 
 DE PROFUNDIS. 333 
 
 CHAPTER XXXI. 
 
 DE PROFUNDIS. 
 
 THE morning found Valeria calmer ; for all were 
 so kind, and so much displeased at the insult that 
 had been offered her, that she could not but be com- 
 forted. " She should not have addressed even an in- 
 sane person so," Sister Agnes said, in commenting on 
 Miss Pendleton's conduct. 
 
 The Director came up, and ordered that Valeria 
 should not see her again. 
 
 " I do not wish ever to see her again," she replied. 
 " I will not willingly ever glance at her, even. But 
 suppose that she should come ? " 
 
 " Excuse yourself," answered the Director. He was 
 walking to and fro in the sala, talking with Valeria 
 and Sister Agnes, and he was angry. 
 
 " You do not know her if you think that an excuse 
 will answer, if she should wish to come in. She would 
 walk into my room in spite of me. And you know 
 there is no lock inside the door." 
 
 " Tell her, if she comes, that I forbid her seeing 
 Madamigella," he said to Sister Agnes. " I will not 
 allow it, mind ! " 
 
 He then went, advising Valeria to go out for a walk 
 into the city. 
 
 But she was in no mood to go out, and preferred to 
 walk in the villa with Sister Agnes. 
 
 They went up the avenue to the excavations, and 
 found the Deputy there, looking at some new baths 
 that had just been uncovered. He explained the ruins 
 to them, and gave Valeria permission to take away 
 some records of the place. There were fragments of 
 beautiful pillars in porta-santa and white marble, a
 
 334 BY THE TIBER. 
 
 great deal of cipolline, and numerous fragments of 
 sculpture, earthen vessels, beautiful opaline glass and 
 serpentine, alabasters of different sorts, giallo-antico 
 and rosso-autico. 
 
 From there, they went round to a knoll called the 
 monticello, in the corner of the villa nearest St. Peter's. 
 Here a grove of shrubs shielded the back of a bench, 
 aud an olive-tree strewed its black berries over the 
 ground. From this spot they looked down into the 
 piazza of St. Peter's, which was scarce more than a 
 stone's-throw from them, and off up the Tiber and 
 across the fields to Ponte Molle, and the country, and 
 the beautiful mountains beyond. A little to the right 
 lay the Castel Sant' Angelo, with all the city rolling 
 away southward. It is one of the few supreme views 
 of Rome. 
 
 They seated themselves on the bench, and looked 
 about awhile, then walked silently back to the casino, 
 and Valeria went up to her chamber and her writing, 
 and tried to forget her troubles in her heroine, and to 
 call up scenes of New England to blot these scenes of 
 old Rome from her mind. The next day would be 
 soon enough to go to look at Madame L.'s rooms. She 
 thought it probable that Miss Pendleton would come 
 to see the Director that day. 
 
 She did not come, however, and the next morning 
 Valeria prepared herself to go out into the city, and 
 sent one of the nurses down for her pass. 
 
 " Make haste," she said ; " for I want to go early. 
 I don't know that a pass is necessary now, for the 
 Director said that I was to do as I please ; but it is 
 better to have one, in case the porter should make a 
 difficulty." 
 
 She dressed and went down, waiting for the nurse 
 in one of the lower gardens. Presently the girl ap- 
 
 red. 
 The Director says that you cannot go out," she said.
 
 DE PROFUNDIS. 335 
 
 " Impossible ! " Valeria exclaimed. 
 
 " The Sister Agnes told me so," said the girl. " She 
 asked the Director herself, and he said that you cannot 
 go out." 
 
 " I will not believe it unless he tells me so himself. 
 Go and find Sister Agnes, and tell her I want her to 
 go to the Director with me." 
 
 " Sister Agnes is in the Community." 
 
 " Come with me yourself, then," Valeria said ; and 
 the girl, though unwilling, accompanied her over the 
 arch of San Spirito, down stairs and through passages, 
 to where, near the Lungara door of the Manicomio, the 
 Director's offices were. 
 
 " The Director is not in, but will return in fifteen 
 minutes," the porter told her. " If you will wait in- 
 side there, I will call you when he comes." 
 
 Fifteen minutes passed by, and she was not called. 
 
 " I am afraid they have forgotten me. I had better 
 go out into the passage," she said, going toward the 
 great prison-like door that shut in the third-class 
 patients. 
 
 " You cannot pass, signora," said the portress, lay- 
 ing her hand on the lock. 
 
 It was useless to contend. With what patience she 
 could, she seated herself again. 
 
 Another fifteen minutes passed, and then the Lady 
 Superior appeared. She was very grave and silent. 
 " Come with me, Mademoiselle," she said ; and, tak- 
 ing Valeria by the hand, led her out to the Director's 
 office. "Wait here till he comes," she added, and 
 left her without another word. 
 
 Presently the Director appeared. 
 
 " How did you come here ? " he exclaimed. 
 
 " The Superior brought me ; and I want to know 
 what all this change means," Valeria said. "Some- 
 thing strange has happened." 
 
 He went to his desk, aiid stood there a moment
 
 336 BY THE TIBER. 
 
 frowning, and turning over his papers. " I have had 
 a letter from the American Consul," he said, flinging 
 out a letter from the others. 
 
 Valeria, who had risen and followed him, stood at 
 the other side of the desk. " Well ? " 
 
 He was silent a moment. " He writes complain- 
 ing that I let you go out about the city, and orders 
 that you shall be kept confined inside the walls." 
 
 Valeria uttered a cry, and clung to the desk for 
 support. 
 
 " You see that I could not let you go," the Director 
 said kindly. " You know I never have refused you 
 anything. But this is accusing me, as well as you. 
 I arn supposed either not to know, or not to do, my 
 duty." 
 
 She had scarcely heard. She was almost fainting. 
 
 " Don't mind it so much ! " the Director continued, 
 distressed at the effect of his communication, which 
 he had not foreseen. He had been more occupied by 
 the thought of the injury which might be done to 
 himself by an official accusation of neglect in the ful- 
 filment of his duties. He well understood that in a 
 position so responsible, and one that was, moreover, 
 desired by many, he must keep himself above re- 
 proach, and he was anxiously scrupulous that every 
 smallest technicality of his office should be rigidly 
 observed. He had found Valeria a lady, and had 
 treated her as such. He now found himself required 
 to treat her as a mad woman. 
 
 " I will see the Consul, and ask what it means," he 
 said. " Of course, I cannot let you go out now for a 
 little while, till this blows over; but you shall go 
 again soon." 
 
 "You cannot believe that I have done anything 
 strange !" she said faintly. 
 
 " No, I do not believe it," he answered. 
 
 " I told Miss Pendleton on Sunday that I would
 
 DE PROFUNDIS. 337 
 
 appeal to the Consul for protection against her, and 
 this is her answer ! She has been to him, or sent 
 some one else, and they have made hirn believe some- 
 thing, I do not know what. I do not know what 
 they are doing. There is something hidden. She 
 was always before very respectful to me, as it was her 
 place to be ; but on Sunday she spoke as if I were 
 under her feet." 
 
 " Try to be quiet now, and I will talk to him," the 
 Director said soothingly. " It will all come right. 
 There has been some mistake." 
 
 She went back to the casino. 
 
 Did the flowers console her, of the view ? They 
 were all a darkness. The Donna Claudia was growl- 
 ing and biting her nurse. A new patient had been 
 brought in through the villa gate in a carriage, from 
 which they were vainly trying to persuade her to 
 descend. Half a dozen men and women stood about 
 waiting to help, if force should be necessary. 
 
 Up-stairs, the sister was preparing a chamber in 
 the same corridor as Valeria's. 
 
 " What ! are you going to put an insane woman up 
 here ? " she said in a trembling voice. 
 
 " There is no other room down-stairs," Sister Agnes 
 answered. " The house is full." 
 
 Valeria stood and held her hands clasped over 
 her heart, which seemed about to leap from her 
 breast. 
 
 In a few minutes the new patient appeared, two 
 nurses holding her feet, and two men at her head and 
 shoulders. Her face was deeply red, her eyes Hash- 
 ing, and her breathing loud; but she did not sprulv, 
 nor resist. She merely let them carry her, but would 
 not help them by walking. 
 
 Valeria shut herself into her room, and began to 
 write letters, some of which she sent out that 
 evening.
 
 338 BY THE TIBER. 
 
 The next day Dr. Kraus, to whom she had written, 
 came to see her, and was shown up to her room. 
 
 " I sent for you in order to ask you certain ques- 
 tions," she said. " They are not necessary to satisfy 
 my own mind ; but I wish to know what you will 
 say. In the sickness through which you attended me 
 before I came here, I had fever, congestion of the 
 lungs, and delirium, and was ill about three weeks. 
 The physical illness was enough to account for the 
 delirium. Am I not right ? " 
 
 He assented. 
 
 " Was I ever violent ? " she pursued. 
 
 " I never saw you so. You used to speak of the 
 room being full of people. But the servant said that 
 you got up sometimes in the night, and that you 
 asked for your keys, and she was rather afraid." 
 
 "I remember that part perfectly," Valeria said. "It 
 was a lucid interval, when I did not know how long 
 I had been sick, and wanted the key of my scrivania, 
 as I always kept it by me, lest the servant should rob 
 me. And now, another question : Was I in such a 
 state that I could have been brought here if I had not 
 consented to come ? " 
 
 " No, you were not," he said. " But you needed a 
 care that you could not have in your own house. 
 Miss Pendleton said she thought you were insensible 
 nearly all the way here." 
 
 " I was not. I can be silent without being insen- 
 sible. She knows that I was not; for I remarked 
 that the driver was taking a round-about road. I was 
 a very sick person who ought to have been in bed, 
 instead of dragged out into a cold November rain. 
 My committal here was, then, illegal. If I could not 
 be forced to corne, I could not be deceived into com- 
 ing, believing that I was going somewhere else. And 
 if I could not have been forced to come, I cannot be 
 forced to stay."
 
 DE PROFUNDIS. 339 
 
 He began to shrug his shoulders. " It was thought 
 best that you should stay here till you should be aide 
 to return to America," he said in a wheedling voice. 
 "You are very comfortable, and you can drive or 
 walk out when you like. You are very well off." 
 
 " I shall not remain here a day longer than I am 
 forced to stay," she replied. " And when I go away, 
 I shall order my life as seems to me best." 
 
 " I don't know how you will get away," the doc- 
 tor said, changing his tone to one less complacent. 
 " There is no one to take the responsibility, and 
 you cannot leave without some one to answer for 
 you." 
 
 It was quite true. She had no acquaintances in 
 Rome, except this little band who had confined her, 
 and kept her confined. It would be impossible to 
 ask a stranger to be responsible for her, the more so 
 that these people were on the alert to cut off every 
 chance of escape, and to prejudice the minds of every 
 one who might approach her. They had compromised 
 themselves seriously; and if they had had no evil 
 intention from the first, it was now for their interest 
 to justify what they had done, since they did not 
 mean to repair it. 
 
 " You knew, in placing me here, that I could not go 
 away without some person being responsible for me ? " 
 she asked, after a moment. 
 
 " Why, that is the rule of the place," he replied, 
 hesitatingly. 
 
 " And you mean to say that the person who con- 
 signed me to this place illegally, mind, by your 
 own acknowledgment cannot be obliged to release 
 me ? " 
 
 " But I do not know that you are well," he said, 
 with an insolent smile. 
 
 Valeria restrained herself, and dropped her eyes, 
 that he might not see the anger in them.
 
 340 BY THE TIBER. 
 
 " I need not detain you any longer," she said, and 
 rose to accompany him down-stairs, where she took 
 a civil leave of him before the sister. 
 
 " But if I had the power, I would order fifty lashes 
 to be given you," she thought, as he bowed his little 
 pink-and-white impudent face before going out. 
 
 When he had gone, she went down to the garden 
 beside the wall, and, seating herself in the swing there, 
 pushed slowly to and fro with the long amber-colored 
 cane. The air was soft, and the sky, brilliant with 
 unclouded sunshine, was of a dazzling blue. Across 
 this sky, at the right, ran the sculptured yellow cor- 
 nice of the house, with vases full of aloes along the 
 roof. At the other side, the same plants reared them- 
 selves against the blue on the near wall outside which 
 dropped the great bastion of Paul III. 
 
 Into the hollow of one of these aloe-leaves, just 
 where it folded to run into a sharp point, dropped a 
 tiny bird, and, resting on the soft cushion of its own 
 breast, poured out a sweet, though plaintive song. 
 
 Valeria looked up with a faint smile on her trem- 
 bling lips. 
 
 " ' Che viioi dirmi in tua favella, 
 Pellegrina rondinella ? ' " 
 
 The feathered singer stopped, seemed to listen a 
 moment to the echoes of its own song, then raised its 
 tiny wings and darted across to the house-top, and 
 perched on a cross above the vane, her eyes following 
 him. 
 
 How noble a mistress is Nature ! With what a 
 soft and potent touch she calms the troubled soul, and 
 makes of every delight she offers a step upward ! She 
 opens the eyes of those who love her geuerously, and 
 shows them the unlost antique paradise, while others 
 grovel in the desert. All riches are theirs. 
 
 What tapestry does not look dull to one who has
 
 DE PROFUNDIS. 341 
 
 been studying a flower- wreathed trellis, where bees 
 and humming-birds contend for the honey of each 
 scented blossom ? What velvet is not coarse after a 
 rose-petal, what lace not poor after the point of the 
 frost-worker? What landscape satisfies him who 
 turns from the mountains and rivers of the Master 
 of the old masters, and what shape of marble or what 
 painted face can equal the human face with an im- 
 mortal soul in it ? Is not the dome of St. Peter's 
 insignificant to the gaze that withdraws itself dazzled 
 from the dome of the sky ? 
 
 The achievements of art are great -only to him who 
 is blind to nature, or who has studied the impoteucy 
 of art to represent nature ; and to appreciate those 
 achievements, one must have served an apprenticeship 
 to pettiness. The unlearned lover of nature looks at 
 first with disappointment on the canvas of Raphael 
 and the marble of Michelangelo; and to know how 
 great these men are, he must first descend and study 
 their difficulties and imagine their despair. 
 
 In this same sunset hour, a small company was 
 gathered in Casa Passarina. To them entered a bright 
 young couple, Mr. and Mrs. Clive Willis. The latter, 
 on her independent cards, wrote herself " Mrs. Lilian 
 Willis, nee Marshall." 
 
 These two had first met in Rome, where they had 
 flirted, and quarrelled, and gone their separate ways. 
 But when the young lady returned to America, the 
 gentleman found that he was not yet entirely satisfied 
 with the corrections which he had given her, and that a 
 great deal of unexpressed disapprobation still remained 
 to trouble his soul. He followed her, therefore, and 
 the result was a mutual agreement to quarrel amica- 
 bly for the remainder of their lives. 
 
 This was their first appearance at Casa Passarina 
 since their return, and they were joyfully welcomed 
 by their old acquaintances.
 
 342 BY THE TIBER. 
 
 "We have come to Europe for a few months to 
 escape congratulations," the gentleman explained. 
 " Americans in America have such odd notions. 
 They think that when people marry all is changed for 
 them in the twinkling of an eye, that they immedi- 
 ately become foolishly happy, and from that dwindle 
 off gradually into nothingness. Now, Americans in 
 Europe have no sentimental ideas about marriage. 
 No one here bothers us with any nonsense about the 
 matter. They know better." 
 
 "Men do not lie half so nicely as women do," 
 thought Mrs. Lilian, as she calmly waited for her hus- 
 band to finish his speech. "That poor fellow will 
 never be able to deceive me in the least." 
 
 " And now," she said, when an opportunity came, 
 " do tell me all the news about everybody. We are 
 going to Naples to-morrow evening, and may not see 
 you again. How is Miss Cromo ? You know she 
 was my ' intimate enemy.' " 
 
 A little chorus of " Hush ! " and enter Miss Cromo. 
 She seldom visited, because she was of no great con- 
 sequence in any other house than her own ; but now 
 and then she came to Casa Passarina. 
 
 " You want to know the news of everybody, my 
 dear ? " she asked, after having made her compliments 
 to the bride. " To begin with, I suppose you know 
 that Mrs. Gordon has caught a count for her daughter. 
 You did not ? Well, she has caught him ; but she had 
 to pay fifty thousand dollars for him. But then he 
 was a very good article of the kind, having an old 
 name and some notable connections. Besides, last 
 year was rather a bad one ; for there were some petro- 
 leum and bonanza girls here with no end of money. 
 However, they went in for princes and dukes." 
 
 " What a price to pay for a count ! " exclaimed Mrs. 
 Lilian scornfully. " I have known of their going for 
 five thousand, and ten is a high price. With good
 
 DE PROFUNDIS. 343 
 
 management you could get a real marchese for ten 
 thousand." 
 
 "The man himself, yes. But connections cost. 
 Besides, a nice young man will always cost more 
 than a battered old reprobate of the same grade, 
 unless the lady wishes to be a widow; and Mrs. 
 Gordon's son-in-law is but twenty-five. Then, she 
 is to live with them half the time." 
 
 " Oh ! " says Mrs. Lilian, with a long circumflex. 
 " He was not so very dear, after all But do tell 
 me about Miss Ellsworth." 
 
 Miss Cromo sighed. "Poor Valeria! I'm afraid 
 there is n't much chance for her. Dr. Lacelles says 
 that she is hopelessly insane. We are trying to 
 manage some way to get her to America." 
 
 " How dreadful ! " exclaimed the bride, really 
 shocked. " I liked her so much. Do you think that 
 we could see her ? Would she know us ? " 
 
 " It would only distress you, my dear," Miss Cromo 
 replied tenderly. "She is violent against all her 
 friends, even those who have done the most for her. 
 I went to see her just before she was taken to the 
 asylum, and she drove me out of the house. I thought 
 best not to go again, lest it should excite her ; but I 
 have told them to let me know if I can do anything 
 for her." 
 
 An elderly gentleman, who was waiting for a friend, 
 had been sitting apart, looking over some newspa- 
 pers. He was not acquainted with the company, and 
 had taken no part in the conversation. But here he 
 interposed. 
 
 "Pardon me!" he said quietly; "but I think that 
 you must have been misinformed. I breakfasted to- 
 day with the Baroness Hiibner, and this lady you 
 mention was spoken of. The Baroness lias been at 
 the Manicomio, and she talked more than a hour with 
 Miss Ellsworth, and on a variety of subjects. She
 
 344 BY THE TIBER. 
 
 told me that she was stupefied at finding such a lady 
 in such a place. There was not the slightest sign of 
 mental disorder. The lady was perfectly calm and 
 reasonable." 
 
 " It is not an insanity, as the word is usually under- 
 stood," Miss Cromo said, without seeming aware that 
 she was contradicting herself. "She has manias. 
 She can appear sane at times, as many insane per- 
 sons do. Besides, she would be on her guard with 
 strangers." 
 
 " I also saw the Marchesa della Fontana," the gen- 
 tleman pursued coolly. " She goes to the asylum 
 occasionally to visit friends there ; and she had a long 
 conversation with Miss Ellsworth. Her conclusion 
 was the same. She found something very strange 
 in the affair." 
 
 " There are plenty of other persons who give a very 
 different testimony," Miss Cromo said, her eyes spark- 
 ling and her head stiffly erect. " The word of two noted 
 physicians and of the American Consul must be of 
 more weight than that of any chance visitor. She was, 
 besides, so violent the last time that Miss Pendleton 
 was there that they are afraid to allow them to meet 
 again. And there is nothing which Miss Pendleton 
 has not done for her." 
 
 " As what ? " asked the gentleman, who seemed to 
 be rather a troublesome person. 
 
 " Why, Miss Pendleton took charge of all her affairs 
 when she was sick, and has taken the greatest pains 
 with them ; and she has written to her friends, and 
 she made all the arrangements for her to go to the 
 asylum, and has done a great deal for her since 
 then." 
 
 "The question is, whether the lady or her affairs 
 are in any better condition after having been so taken 
 care of," the gentleman returned. " The most of us 
 would think ourselves but little obliged to one who
 
 DE PROFUNDIS. 345 
 
 would take possession of us and our affairs when we 
 were sick, and retain possession of both when we are 
 well. I do not know all of this affair ; but my idea 
 is that the cause for gratitude is not so sure. I hap- 
 pened to be at Madame L.'s pension the day that the 
 Medical Director of the asylum recommended Miss 
 Ellsworth there. He spoke highly of her, said that 
 there had never been anything like insanity in her 
 case, but that she was brought there for care during 
 the convalescence of a severe illness, and that she 
 was now in excellent health. Such an authority is 
 supreme." 
 
 " Every one knew that she needed a guardian," 
 Miss Cromo said, losing temper. " She was killing 
 herself with opium ; and besides, she was insane in 
 money-spending. Last year she spent three thousand 
 dollars ; and she ought not to have spent a thousand." 
 
 " You can't shut a person up for spending more 
 than their income, nor for opium-eating," the gentle- 
 man replied. " And even if you could, the charges 
 would have to be proved in every case." 
 
 Miss Cromo rose angrily, turned her back upon the 
 speaker, and took leave of the others. 
 
 Her antagonist looked curiously after her. 
 
 " What interest has that lady in proving that Miss 
 Ellsworth is insane ? " he asked. " She professes to 
 be a friend, and ready to do any service, yet I mid 
 her talk very inimical. Has she anything at stake ? " 
 
 Miss Cromo had, in fact, won her stake. For the 
 Countess Belvedere saluted her when they met 
 rather negligently, it is true, but it was a recognition 
 and one or two of her humbler friends had visited 
 Miss Cromo's house. It was not to be expected that 
 her services would be rewarded too quickly or openly ; 
 but she understood that in time quite a little circle 
 attached to the mistress of Villa Mitella might honor 
 her with their smiles.
 
 846 BY THE TIBER. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXII. 
 
 FOUR-LEAVED CLOVERS. 
 
 THERE came a morning soon that was spring, 
 though it was still called February. Nature had 
 for some time been preparing one of her pleasant 
 surprises ; a multitude of leaves had stolen out in 
 dusky dominoes, and held themselves ready to un- 
 fold and show a tender green at a moment's notice ; 
 there were countless flower-buds hidden under brown 
 masks, where only the most searching eyes could de- 
 tect their peeping faces; and it had taken a sharp 
 little box-ou-the-ear from a tramontana to keep the 
 daisies from opening out a million million disks the 
 day before, and turning all the world a premature 
 pink and white. Moreover, slim rosebuds had been 
 eagerly sipping a rosy ichor from the very heart's 
 blood of the bountiful mother, and pushing their 
 green sepals apart like the bars of a lattice with their 
 swelling petals. All at once, at some signal, perhaps 
 an air out of the sky, or a beam of the sun, or some 
 rush of birds, or a pulse whispering under the earth, 
 out they all burst at once. No one saw them appear, 
 but there they were. It was done by the dews of the 
 dark knight, or in some magical hour of uncertain 
 dawn. Ten kinds of flowers were open, myriads of 
 birds flew, the trees were a mist of foliage, and the 
 very thorns of the rose-bushes were so large and 
 transparent and crimson that they seemed to be full 
 of blood. 
 
 ' When Valeria went down-stairs in the morning, 
 the doors and windows were wide open, and the ladies 
 were all in the garden. The Duchess was seated on a 
 bench, full of satisfaction over a plate of snails, which
 
 FOUR-LEAVED CLOVERS. 347 
 
 she picked out of the shells with a large pin, and ate, 
 while talking airily of her near departure from the 
 villa. 
 
 " We will take an apartment together," she said to 
 Valeria. " I do not care for a large establishment. 
 We can have a groom, a cook, and each of us a maid 
 Will not that be enough ? " 
 
 " Quite enough," Valeria replied listlessly, and went 
 on. 
 
 The nun in charge of the Tessenda came to meet 
 her. " When are you going away, siguora ? " she 
 asked. 
 
 " Oh, it is pleasant here! " she replied. 
 
 " It is a pretty place, yes," the sister said; "but it 
 is no place for you." 
 
 The Donna Faustina was busy with her lace- 
 making, into which she was weaving a little white 
 butterfly that she had found entangled in a spider's- 
 \veb. The Donna Claudia walked to and fro, swing- 
 ing her handkerchief, and declaiming in a voice that 
 rose now and then like a tempest, then died away in 
 a sighing cadence that was inexpressibly musical and 
 touching. In the midst of them the English lady 
 was affably entertaining an invisible company. 
 
 In one of the upper windows, clinging to the bars 
 as she stood on the window-ledge, was the last 
 patient, the Signora Agnese, talking with great volu- 
 bility at the top of her voice. She had resisted all 
 efforts to persuade her to eat, and was now cele- 
 brating her triumph over the doctors, who had just 
 left her. 
 
 "Dottori beneditti!" she called jeeringly after them. 
 " Do you think to make me afraid ? I am not afraid 
 of you all, put together." And her scornful laugh ran 
 down through the bars. 
 
 The young widow stood apart, as usual, wrapped 
 in dark and bitter silence. The Sor Agnesina made
 
 348 BY THE TIBER. 
 
 tatting with swift, dexterous fingers, and wagged her 
 yello\f head, and seemed to talk inwardly. 
 
 " If I should stay here long," Valeria thought, " and 
 watch these people, and be tormented by those others 
 outside, I, too, might begin to do strange things. I 
 wonder if they think of that in keeping me here ! I 
 wonder if they never thought of it in placing me here ! " 
 
 Turning away from the contemplation, she went up 
 to her room again. But this was no longer a peaceful 
 refuge. All night she had heard the ravings of the 
 Signora Agnese, and it was now impossible to shut 
 her voice out. 
 
 She tried to write ; but presently dropped the pen, 
 and sat thinking. In spite of her, story after story 
 came up before her of Italian vengeance, of people 
 imprisoned without accusation or trial, of sane people 
 shut into lunatic asylums, of sudden deaths that no 
 one dared ask questions about all these tales re- 
 peated, not by strangers and ignorant people alone, 
 but by Italians and people of culture. 
 
 As she thought, her mind was like a smoke in 
 which a thin flame flickers ; and the smoke was doubt, 
 and the flame suspicion. This suspicion had been 
 flickering in her mind ever since her interview with 
 Miss Pendleton. 
 
 Now, as before, she put it away, and, rising, began 
 to pace her room. The morning sunshine was re- 
 flected in at the window, and where it shone brightest 
 on the wall, hung a picture of Tasso, the large lumi- 
 nous eyes looking out of his pallid face with the 
 expression of a hunted creature which seeks for refuge, 
 and finds it not. 
 
 "Oh, Tasso mio!" she said, looking into those 
 troubled eyes, "you asked for love, and they gave 
 you a prison ; you asked for bread, and they gave you 
 a laurel crown. You were great, and I am small ; but 
 we were both caught in the same net."
 
 IN THE NET. 349 
 
 There was a tap at the door, and Sister Agnes came 
 in with a letter and a package. " I hope it is some- 
 thing pleasant," she said, lingering a little. 
 
 Valeria opened the letter. It was from her pub- 
 lisher, and announced the issue of her book, of which 
 he sent her a copy. 
 
 She opened the package, and saw a pretty green- 
 covered volume with three four-leaved clovers on the 
 cover. Here was what she had expected to receive 
 with delight, and she received it thus ! 
 
 The sister was looking at her with kind solicitude. 
 She had hoped to give pleasure, and feared that she 
 had given pain instead. "It is pleasant, thank you, 
 suora mia" Valeria said, trying to smile. " See ! it is 
 my new book, and and oh ! I cannot bear it any 
 longer 1 " 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIII. 
 
 IN THE NET. 
 
 AS soon as Valeria had recovered from her second 
 fever, and had begun to be displeased at the 
 liberties taken in her affairs, she had written to 
 several persons among those who were most interested 
 in her; and while, to spare them anxiety, she had 
 made no complaint of any one, and had dwelt on the 
 kindness of those about her in the Manicomio, she 
 had stated decidedly her intention of going away at 
 the end of three months. 
 
 It was now time to hear from her correspondents ; 
 and one morning the sister came smiling into her 
 room with both hands full of letters. 
 
 " I am sure there must be some good news
 
 350 BY THE TIBER. 
 
 all these," she said, and, laying them down, delicately 
 withdrew, and left Valeria to read them. 
 
 The first was from a publisher, and contained the 
 second monthly payment for her serial. The first had 
 come, and she had given it up to the Medical Director, 
 having been told that she would not be allowed to 
 hold money. 
 
 The second letter was from the American nun, 
 Sister Veronica, and had come to Miss Pendleton's 
 care, as many other letters had during her illness. 
 
 At the first glance Valeria saw that this letter had 
 been opened in Eome. It was so closed that the 
 lines of the Roman postmark, made over the fold, did 
 not form a regular circle, the edges of the fold were 
 worn, there were marks inside of the gum having 
 been put on twice, and a bit half torn off the en- 
 velope. 
 
 Sister Veronica had for many years been her most 
 faithful and devoted friend. Never had any one been 
 so solicitous for her good, so consoling in every trouble, 
 so helpful in every difficulty. 
 
 " Whoever has read it is sure to have been edified," 
 Valeria thought, in unfolding the sheet ; but as she 
 read, her pleasure changed to surprise, and her sur- 
 prise to stupefaction. 
 
 . Sister Veronica's whole letter was a prayer that she 
 would remain where she was till some other refuge 
 could be found for her. With sorrowful affection she 
 performed the duty imposed on her of withdrawing 
 the invitation given Valeria to make their convent 
 her home for a time. They could not, she said, give 
 her the care which she needed, and she was not her- 
 self in authority there, and could give no invitations 
 unsanctioned by her superiors. In conclusion, she 
 begged her to bear as patiently as was possible the 
 disadvantages of her position till they should have 
 decided what to do with her.
 
 IN THE NET. 351 
 
 " If I were anything but a poor nun, I would come 
 to Rome and take care of you, if I had to beg my 
 way," she concluded, with a burst of love and grief. 
 
 Valeria read the letter through a second time to 
 convince herself of its reality. She had already 
 written to decline their invitation, and the letters 
 had crossed on the way. That did not matter. But 
 what did the rest mean ? 
 
 Her appearance was an odd commentary on this 
 letter. Tall, full-formed, brimming with life and 
 health from the tips of her fingers to the thick curly 
 hair that was pushing out newly after her fever, one 
 might have laughed at the idea of her needing care, if 
 one could have laughed at anything suggested by that 
 letter, which trembled all through with the pious and 
 loving heart that had dictated it. 
 
 There were intimations which she did not under- 
 stand ; but the next letter explained them. For this 
 writer expressed herself more plainly ; and while, 
 like Sister Veronica, she did not mention the source 
 of her information, was more circumstantial as to 
 what that information had been. She also began 
 and ended her letter with advising Valeria to con- 
 tinue where she was till they should have made up 
 their minds what was best for her to do. 
 
 After fifteen years of a life of entire self-depend- 
 ence, uncontrolled and unaided, she suddenly found 
 herself treated as a piece of unclaimed luggage which 
 was to be moved from one place of storage to another 
 by whoever might compassionately take the trouble 
 of such removal. And at the same time she learned 
 something of the grounds on which this guardianship 
 was based. It was supposed that she was so addicted 
 to the use of opium a drug which, from some pecu- 
 liarity of constitution, she could not take even as a 
 medicine, and never had taken that, if left free, she 
 might be expected to appear in company stupefied or
 
 352 BY THE TIBER. 
 
 wild from its influence ; that she had so little idea of 
 the value of money when, in fact, she was rather an 
 uncommonly skilful manager that she was not to be 
 trusted to buy herself a pair of shoes ; and that, while 
 in truth of a notably quiet and retiring disposition, 
 she was in danger of committing the most strange 
 extravagances. Everything that malice could invent, 
 everything that could be gathered from authorities 
 which they would have been ashamed to acknowl- 
 edge, had been gathered and written and told right 
 and left. Not only that: the story which Valeria 
 would not have made public even to obtain protection 
 for herself, but had confided most unwisely, indeed, 
 but trustingly to the honor of those whom she hoped 
 might suggest to her some remedy, now came back to 
 her in so distorted and changed a form as to be utterly 
 false, and contrary to every fact. And it came back 
 as a mania ; which, indeed, it would have been, had 
 she ever dreamed of entertaining it. Her little con- 
 fidences to Miss Pendleton in those days of weakness 
 when she had resigned herself into her hands, con- 
 fidences which she had never doubted would be held 
 sacred, the affairs of her house, her possessions, all 
 those petty details which would never have been 
 known except that she lay helpless, and could not 
 keep strangers out, here they all were, blown to the 
 four winds. 
 
 And they had been believed, and believed on the 
 testimony of a stranger! It was but one example 
 more of what a few flattering words and pious pre- 
 tences can accomplish. 
 
 Miss Pendleton the informant could be no other 
 knew how to tell her tale, with what seeming re- 
 luctance, with what excuses, with what expressions 
 of devoted attachment, with what doubts, and above 
 all, with what piety ! And her correspondents had 
 lacked the penetration to see that, if really reluctant,
 
 IN THE NET. 353 
 
 she need not have told ; if doubtful and friendly, she 
 would have sought to disprove such absurdities; 'and 
 if really pious, she would have shown some mercy 
 and nobility of soul. The proof of the dispositions 
 of a story-teller is not in the professions which she 
 makes, but in the effect which she produces. 
 
 " Are they imbeciles ? " cried Valeria fiercely, crush- 
 ing the letters in her hands, and flinging them away. 
 
 Two others remained. She tore them open, and 
 found traces of the same work. 
 
 Both were from correspondents of Mrs. Harwood ; 
 and the writer of one of them, who, for some myste- 
 rious reason, assumed that that lady was a person of 
 infallible judgment, and the most devoted friend that 
 Valeria ever had, insisted that she would never have 
 approved of what had been done without the best of 
 reasons, and that she had acted on the surest informa- 
 tion which she could obtain. 
 
 " What has Mrs. Harwood to do with the matter ? " 
 Valeria exclaimed, flinging this letter after the others, 
 and taking up the last one. 
 
 And here, at length, was a beam of light through 
 the chaos which surrounded her. A woman of ex- 
 treme sensitiveness and delicacy, but of a clear and 
 independent judgment, this writer had not been im- 
 posed upon by authorities nor by phrases; and she 
 considered Valeria's confinement an outrage. The 
 same reasons for it which had been written to the 
 others had been given to her also, and she scornfully 
 pronounced them worthless and null. Living at a 
 distance, she was in England, she could do noth- 
 ing personally ; but she could procure the interven- 
 tion of a high foreign official in Home, who would 
 demand an investigation of the affair. 
 
 It was useless. Unless he should know all the 
 story, or should bring these people before her, it 
 would avail nothing. As long as they could talk un-
 
 354 BY THE TIBER. 
 
 answered, they could always conquer. Their strength 
 was in their secrecy. There needed a bold and reso- 
 lute questioner, who would oblige each one to prove 
 what she should assert, or give her authority, and 
 who would tell Valeria everything. So pursued, they 
 would have melted like shadows. They would have 
 heard from some one, would have forgotten whom, 
 would have shirked responsibility. They would have 
 been a retiring fog, which could not be grasped, 
 though they had been a thick fog to suffocate. 
 
 But she could not hope for such an investigation. 
 
 Neither could she hope for any active partisanship 
 from the people of the Manicomio, kind as they were. 
 Official reserve and Italian caution would prevent 
 their taking any aggressive part. But that they 
 would do anything against her she could not believe. 
 The most that she could expect, and all that she could 
 ask, was that they should make her detention as tol- 
 erable as it could be made. 
 
 But in this moment, even liberty was almost lost 
 sight of in the misery of this inevitable inferno of 
 wagging tongues. 
 
 " Oh ! who will ever give me back the silence of 
 my life ? " she cried out. 
 
 Into the solitude where she had meant to hide her- 
 self with nature and art and religion for companions, 
 had broken the full pack of yelping gossips. 
 
 There was a tap at the door, and Sister Agnes put 
 her head in. " Well, signora," she began, " I hope" 
 then broke off. "Why, how red your cheeks are! 
 What is the matter ? " ' 
 
 "You hope that I have had pleasant news," Valeria 
 said. " Come in, and hear them. Sit here. Excuse 
 my standing, and walking about. And don't be 
 alarmed if I should catch you and shake you. I feel 
 as if I were a tempest shut into the puny form of a 
 woman ! "
 
 IN THE NET. 355 
 
 "Why, signora " 
 
 " Listen ! " And Valeria told her story. 
 
 The sister was shocked. She began to murmur 
 consolations and exhortations, saying the best she 
 knew. She begged Valeria to leave all in the hands 
 of God, who would surely protect her, and raise up 
 friends for her. She must try to forgive. 
 
 "Forgive !" Valeria burst forth. " I would like to 
 drive over them with wild horses ! " 
 
 " Oh, don't speak so, signora ! Try to wait ; and 
 God will right you." 
 
 " Oh, I must wait, for I am tied hand and foot ! " 
 she cried, wringing her hands. " But you may be 
 sure that the time of God to right me will come the 
 very first moment that I can right myself ! " 
 
 " But, signora, a Christian must bear patiently " 
 
 " Ah ! ma sceur," Valeria interrupted, sweeping 
 away the gentle voice, " ' nous avons change tout 
 c,ela.' " 
 
 The sister was silent a moment. Then she said, 
 " Miss Pendleton has been here." 
 
 " She has ! Keep her out of my sight." 
 
 " She wished very much to see you," the nun went 
 on. " She says that if you will receive her, she will 
 never again interfere with your affairs in any way. 
 And she wanted me to tell you that she loves you 
 just as well as ever." 
 
 " I have no doubt that she does ; just as well. 
 Keep her out of my sight. Don't allow her to be in 
 the garden when I want to walk there. And assure 
 her that I do not love her as well as ever, nor at 
 all ! " 
 
 " I told her that the Director does not allow her to 
 see you," the sister said. 
 
 " 7 do not allow her to see me ! " 
 
 The sister had an inspiration. " Would n't you like 
 to take a little walk ? " she asked.
 
 356 BY THE TIBER. 
 
 It was the best diversion possible. They went 
 down-stairs, and out through the garden, Sister Agnes 
 stopping to gather for her companion a bunch of pur- 
 ple pausies out of the crowd that stood all facing the 
 sun, each with the image of an oriental bearded face 
 painted on its rich petals. They went up the avenue 
 under the delicate foliage, crossed the little bridge 
 that would soon be draped with purple wisteria and 
 snow-white multiflora roses, and came to a large green 
 in Villa Gabrielli, where a few benches were set in the 
 lee of a wide semicircle of laurels joined thickly into a 
 hedge. And here the sister left Valeria in the com- 
 pany of a nurse they had met, and returned to her 
 own duties. 
 
 The green was bright with daisies. In summer the 
 grass would be over the head of the tallest man there. 
 Everything in that place was luxuriant with a dancing 
 growth. 
 
 Valeria seated herself by the laurels, and the nurse 
 went about gathering daisies for her. 
 
 It was one of the days when the Manicomio was 
 open to visitors, and two gentlemen were wandering 
 about not far away. They went down the avenue 
 toward the bridge, then turned back on to the green. 
 
 " Don't take any notice of them," Valeria said in a 
 low voice to the nurse. " They show very little dis- 
 cretion in coming here." 
 
 She turned away in speaking, and began to examine 
 the dark laurel leaves behind the bench. 
 
 The steps came nearer, and the voice of the nurse 
 was heard talking with one of the strangers. In spite 
 of the charge she had received, it was impossible for 
 the girl to resist the compliments and inquiries ad- 
 dressed to her. 
 
 Hearing a step beside her, Valeria turned to go 
 away, and found herself face to face with the Count 
 Belvedere.
 
 IN THE NET. 357 
 
 He looked at her with eager excitement, too much 
 engrossed in the object for which he had sought her 
 to even salute her. 
 
 " Signora," he said hastily, and in a low tone, " is 
 it possible that I see the American of the casuccia iii 
 this place ? " 
 
 " If you have any inquiries to make about the place, 
 it would be better to go to one of the men-servants," 
 she said coldly. " I do not play cicerone." 
 
 He regained his composure immediately. 
 
 " I do not mean to intrude," he said respectfully. 
 " I only wish to say that I am sorry to see you here, 
 and to ask if you have anything to say to me." 
 
 " Who sent you ? " she asked. 
 
 " No one." 
 
 " And, pray, what could I have to say to you ? " 
 
 He had dropped his eyes. He now raised them, 
 and looked at her fixedly. 
 
 " I should be happy if I could be of any service to 
 you. And I fancied that you might have something 
 to tell me." 
 
 " I have nothing to tell you," she replied. 
 
 He continued to look at her with steady and pene- 
 trating eyes. " We were sorry to learn of your severe 
 illness last autumn," he said, " and I am glad to see 
 you looking so well. Your apartment is as you left 
 it, and ready for you whenever you wish to return." 
 
 "Thanks! but I do not wish to return there," she 
 said. " It has already been relinquished, without 
 my authority, it is true, and I do not wish to re- 
 new the lease." 
 
 " Is that all ? " he asked, as she made a motion to 
 go. " You are resolved ? " 
 
 " It is all, Signor Conte. Good-morning." 
 
 She called the nurse, and turned away. " It is the 
 only reply I could make," she thought " He wants 
 to find out something, not to save me."
 
 358 BY THE TIBER. 
 
 The Superior met her in the garden as she went in. 
 
 " Sister Agnes has been telling rue of your letters, 
 mademoiselle," she said, taking Valeria's hand. " Try 
 not to think of them. Whatever those people out- 
 side may say, here every one loves and respects you. 
 And those ladies certainly will do you no harm ; they 
 cannot keep you here." 
 
 " Those ladies, madre mia ! Do you imagine that 
 no one is concerned but a few mischievous women ? 
 Do you think that they would have dared so much if 
 there were not a stronger power behind them pushing 
 them on ? " 
 
 " Who could it be ? " the nun exclaimed. 
 
 Valeria was silent. To tell anything here would 
 be to make a bad matter worse. 
 
 The Superior did not press the question. " I have 
 brought up a pass for you," she said, " and I want you 
 to go out and take a little walk or drive in the city. 
 Don't sit still thinking of your troubles. It will do 
 you no good." 
 
 How kind and thoughtful they were ! It was im- 
 possible to refuse the consolation and help, which was 
 the best that they could offer. 
 
 Valeria dressed, and, accompanied by Fidelia, the 
 nurse, went to visit Mrs. Harwood. She little dreamed 
 what an influence this lady had had in her affairs, 
 that her name had, indeed, had more weight than any 
 other, and that to her she owed the Consul's letter 
 which had for a time shut her within the walls. 
 
 Miss Pendleton, aware that she had by her violence 
 committed herself irremediably, and alarmed at Va- 
 leria's defiance of her at their last meeting, had hast- 
 ened to Mrs. Harwood. 
 
 Valeria was violent, would not listen to reason, and 
 was so determined to leave the Manicomio that she 
 would undoubtedly try to escape if she had the oppor- 
 tunity. It was true that she had no money ; but she
 
 IN THE NET. 359 
 
 might claim the protection of the authorities, and 
 make a great scandal. She ought to be strictly 
 guarded, and not allowed to go into the street. 
 
 Well was it for Valeria in that day that neither 
 Miss Pendleton nor her friends had power within the 
 asylum. If they had had full authority there, nothing 
 would have saved her. 
 
 They did what they could, however. Mrs. Har- 
 wood believed in Miss Pendleton as she did in the 
 sun and moon. She was pious, and she paid great 
 court to herself, arid she had the gentlest manner in 
 the world. Never had she seen her otherwise than 
 complacent and "sweet." It would not have been 
 difficult to make her believe that Miss Peudleton 
 smiled habitually in her sleep. All that she said, 
 therefore, was true and charitable. 
 
 Mrs. Harwood consulted with her, then went to the 
 Consul, fortified with some such letters as Valeria 
 had just received, letters procured by the same 
 means, and equally worthless as testimony or au- 
 thority. 
 
 The Consul could not doubt her honesty, though he 
 must have doubted her soundness of rnind. He knew 
 some of her relatives, and that they were very respect- 
 able people. And to this " distinguished considera- 
 tion " Valeria had been sacrificed. 
 
 Of all this she was completely ignorant when she 
 made her visit. 
 
 They talked awhile on indifferent topics; then 
 Valeria gently complained of her detention. She had 
 thought better not to speak of the letters received 
 that morning. 
 
 " Your release depends on the doctors," Mrs. Har- 
 wood said, with an air of great reserve, dropping her 
 eyes. 
 
 " The Director recommended me to go away long 
 ago," was the quick reply.
 
 360 BY THE TIBER. 
 
 "The Consul wishes to have the consent of the 
 doctors who consigned you to him," Mrs. Harwood 
 said after a moment's silence. 
 
 It was useless to argue with her. As there are 
 none so deaf as those who will not hear, so there are 
 none so dull as those who will not be convinced. 
 Valeria knew that Mrs. Harwood would sit there in 
 stolid silence, and listen as if to a whistling wind. 
 The bitter thought came almost to her lips : " I wonder 
 what doctors would advise your release if you were 
 in my place ! " but she did not utter it. 
 
 " I have learned from America this morning that 
 the money I have been asking about so long was sent 
 months ago, and is now in the bank here," she said. 
 " I am sorry that some one had not the good sense or 
 the good manners to tell me at once that I could not 
 be allowed to hold money. It would have saved me 
 the humiliation of asking for it several times in vain, 
 and others the trouble of telling a good many false- 
 hoods. Now, if it were offered to me, I would not 
 take it. It can be used to pay any of my expenses, 
 if the unknown powers which arrange my affairs 
 choose to take it. But I will not touch it." 
 
 Mrs. Harwood, making no reply, glanced about the 
 room, and her eyes fell on Fidelia, and on a gay purple 
 shawl she wore. 
 
 " Where did she get that shawl ? " she exclaimed. 
 
 " I gave it to her." 
 
 Mrs. Harwood stared at the shawl. 
 
 " It was brought to me by Miss Pendleton and 
 Madame de la Eoche. I did not need it, but accepted 
 it from courtesy. Now, of course, I will not keep 
 any gift from that house. I had worn it once or twice 
 about the gardens, so I could not send it back to them. 
 Fidelia has done a good deal for me, and I gave it to 
 her." 
 
 "But it was bought with your own money,"
 
 IN THE NET. 3d 
 
 Mrs. Harwood exclaimed. " It was to wear in the 
 villa." 
 
 " And so they buy my clothes, even, for me, and 
 make me pay for them ! Come, Fidelia," she said, 
 rising. " It is time to go." 
 
 She had not patience to talk any more. She pre- 
 ferred to go back to her prison. The great iron gate 
 opened for her, and was locked behind her when she 
 had entered. They went up the long stairway, through 
 gloomy passages, passed over the arch of San Spirito, 
 and up to the villa. Here sunshine broke into the 
 dark archway, the great palm-tree by the veranda was 
 softly waving its branches up and down, the ladies 
 were out, and the gardener was clipping the trees. 
 
 Valeria went to ask him the names of some of his 
 plants ; but his flowers all spoke Latin, and he knew 
 none of their familiar names. 
 
 " Botany is an exquisite science," she thought. 
 " Why do not I study it ? if Madonna Nature would 
 kindly pardon my curiosity." 
 
 The sister asked if she had had a pleasant visit 
 
 " Oil ! charming ! " 
 
 The clean clothes had been brought up from the 
 wash, and Sister Agnes and one of the nurses were 
 folding them out of great baskets, and piling them on 
 one of the marble benches set between the doors of 
 the lower rooms, and trying to keep the Donna Faus- 
 tina from sitting down upon them or walking over 
 them. As they pulled the long sheets between them, 
 leaning back to straighten them well out, the shadows 
 of the palm-branches fell on the white linen, and 
 brushed off the spots of reflected sunshine, that ever 
 came dancing back again. 
 
 " You said that you should have something to send 
 out to the post this evening," Sister Agnes said. 
 " Pietro will soon come up, and you had better send 
 out by him, if the letters are ready."
 
 362 BY THE TIBER. 
 
 "They are not quite ready; and I am thinking 
 about them. There is some manuscript, which will 
 cost ten soldi. I want it registered. Then there are 
 two letters, which will be five soldi each. And I have 
 fifteen soldi left of the two lire that the Superior lent 
 me last month. Do me a sum, suora mia : a certain 
 poor maniac had fifteen soldi. From this she paid 
 ten soldi for one thing, and five soldi each for two 
 others. How much had the aforesaid poor maniac left ? 
 I cannot find out the remainder. And do you not 
 think that she will have to beg another lira before she 
 can resume her foreign relations ? " 
 
 The sister smiled. " The Superior will lend you 
 what you need. Or, stay ; I believe that 1 have four 
 or five soldi." She searched her pocket, and brought 
 out a few coppers. " But why do not you ask the 
 Director " 
 
 " I shall not ask the Director. Some one has been 
 telling him absurd stories of my extravagance, and he 
 believes them ; or he does n't disbelieve them. I will 
 not beg for my own money." 
 
 She went up-stairs and finished her letters as well 
 as she could for the noise about her, then left her 
 chamber to carry them down. 
 
 The door of the Signora Agnese's room was open, 
 and two nurses were putting the strait-jacket on 
 her, while Sister Agnes stood looking on with an im- 
 passible face. The woman had so long refused to eat 
 that it was found necessary to use force. 
 
 The strait-jacket, made of a strong double cloth 
 of twilled linen, had very long sleeves ending in straps 
 that were tied to iron bars at either side of the bed- 
 stead. An opening in the sleeves allowed the hands 
 to be free ; but this also could be laced up so as to 
 imprison the hands. The jacket was laced behind. 
 Strong loops were set at the waist, the backs of the 
 arms, and at the shoulders, through which wide bands
 
 IN THE NET. 363 
 
 were passed and tied to the iron railing of the bed- 
 stead. 
 
 Valeria remembered with a shudder that her own 
 bedstead had these iron bars. 
 
 The woman did not resist, but she talked inces- 
 santly, her rather handsome face very red, her bright 
 black eyes wandering about. 
 
 " Bind me tighter ! " she cried. " Bind me tighter ! 
 This is an easy martyrdom. St. Peter, I suffer this 
 for you. I offer it up in your honor. Do you know 
 where St. Peter was crucified ? A Roma ! Do you 
 know where St. Paul was murdered ? A Roma !" 
 
 That R-r-r-r-oma ! would have won applause for a 
 tragic actress. 
 
 Her restless eyes fell on Valeria, who stood at the 
 door. 
 
 " Who are you?" she cried. "Are you the Superior?" 
 
 " No. I am a patient like you," Valeria said, going 
 to the bedside. " Only I 'in not so silly as to try to 
 starve myself." 
 
 " I can't eat ! " the woman replied. 
 
 " Oh, yes, you can. And you will grow worse every 
 day if you don't try. Here is some soup. Try to 
 eat it. Don't be a baby ! " 
 
 " I '11 try it for your sake, but I don't want it," she 
 said ; and she swallowed a little wh^n the sister brought 
 it to her, but pushed the rest away. " I cannot eat ! " 
 
 " This is the place where people who are nervous 
 come to live tranquilly ! " Valeria said to herself as 
 she went down-stairs with her letters, rerneml>ering 
 the promises with which she had been enticed there. 
 
 When she went back, the Signora Agnese had been 
 left alone. The door was locked and the slide open. 
 She looked in and saw the woman lying there Ixwnd. 
 She was singing at the top of her voice, psalm - 
 parts of the Catholic service, all in Latin, her toninic 
 flying with inconceivable rapidity. She sang prayers
 
 364 BY THE TIBER. 
 
 and responses, parts of the Mass, the Preface, the 
 Pontifical benediction, and dwelt with particular 
 unction on the high festa lie, inissa est, which she 
 drew out in the long and rather cranky movement of 
 a priest who has more music in his soul than in his 
 voice. 
 
 Valeria heard some one laugh, and turned to see 
 Sister Agnes. It was impossible not to laugh ; for 
 the woman lay shouting out this medley as if she 
 were in the height of comfort and contentment. 
 
 The next morning, when the doctors made their 
 daily visit, the Director came to the villa with them. 
 He was always very welcome, for, though strict in 
 discipline, he was kind and always courteous. 
 
 " You were at the bank yesterday," he said to Vale- 
 ria, with a certain stateliness. 
 
 " No, siguore," she replied, looking at him in sur- 
 prise. 
 
 " You were at the bank and took out some money," 
 he repeated iii a measured voice. 
 
 " No." 
 
 " You have taken no money from the bank ? " 
 
 " No ; who has said that I have ? " 
 
 " Mrs. Harwood." 
 
 Valeria smiled. " You see what kind of people 
 are guarding me, Signor Cavaliere. I went to Mrs. 
 Harwood yesterday almost on purpose to tell her 
 that I would not accept the money if she offered it to 
 me. I told her so plainly." 
 
 The Director uttered an exclamation of annoyance. 
 " What kind of women are these ? They go about 
 making mischief for you in every way." 
 
 " If 1 had taken the money, I should have had a 
 right to do so, should I not ? " she asked. 
 
 " Yes, you would." 
 
 Mrs. Harwood had written her story to the Supe- 
 rior directly after Valeria left her. She had, in fact,
 
 IN THE NET. 365 
 
 fallen into one of her trances while listening, and the 
 idea had entered her darkened mind inverted, like 
 the images of outward objects into a camerascura. 
 She had also complained that Valeria had been al- 
 lowed to give the shawl to Fidelia. 
 
 "Signor Direttore," Valeria said later, "do you 
 think it necessary to examine my letters ?" 
 
 " Certainly not ! and I never have." 
 
 " Did not I give you the check I received from my 
 serial last month, when I might have concealed it 
 from you ? " she pursued. 
 
 " You did." 
 
 " Well, here is another letter from the same pub- 
 lisher. I have not opened it ; I wish to open it in 
 your presence, so tbat you may be sure that I do not 
 steal nor hide anything out of it." 
 
 She opened the letter, shook the sheet wide, and 
 gave him the check it contained. 
 
 " I have a right to receive and keep my own 
 money," she said ; " but when I tell you that I will 
 not take any without your consent, I expect you to 
 depend upon my word. When I choose to take my 
 own money without your consent, I shall take it; 
 but I will give you fair warning. Here see! 
 is a letter which has been opened to make sure, I 
 presume, that there was no money in it. Yet the 
 money that I received before from this same person, 
 as well as that from an American publisher, I put 
 voluntarily into Miss Pendleton's hands. Honesty 
 is thrown away on such people." 
 
 With an elegantly courteous bow, the Director ten- 
 dered her the check that she had given him. 
 
 " Madamigella, keep the money, and whatever may 
 come to you in future," he said. 
 
 He had such a fine, noble nature ! One could not 
 speak a generous word to him without meeting with 
 a generous response.
 
 366 BY THE TIBER. 
 
 " And, by the way," Valeria added, " Mrs. Harwood 
 says that the Consul will not release me without the 
 consent of the doctors who placed me here. Have 
 they any jurisdiction ? " 
 
 " Not in the least ! Their work is done. It is for 
 us to judge of the persons in our care," the Director 
 replied. 
 
 " It would be rather amusing to have those two 
 men come and talk with me to test my sanity. Ham- 
 let had but one Polonius ; I should have two. ' Very 
 like a whale.' I can imagine them now with their 
 eyes fixed on me, one at either side, our three chairs 
 making a right-angled triangle. Dr. Kraus will look 
 a little embarrassed. Dr. Lacelles will be full of a 
 solemn feeling of responsibility. They will use the 
 most elaborate diplomacy to introduce every possi- 
 ble subject, and will exchange glances at my replies. 
 Do you know, Signor Cavaliere, I cannot promise you 
 that I will not go in to see them with a crown of 
 straws on rny head, and walk about declaiming like 
 the Donna Claudia. May I ? Will you stand by 
 me if I do it ? " 
 
 " Imbeciles ! " pronounced the Director, with an 
 accent of superb scorn, as he slowly paced the room. 
 " Imbeciles ! " 
 
 That day Valeria was told that Mrs. Harwood had 
 come and paid another three months for her. 
 
 " Don't let it trouble you," the Superior said, when 
 Valeria uttered a faint cry. " That does not mean 
 that you are to stay three months, or even three 
 weeks. It is the custom to pay three months in ad- 
 vance, and the money is returned afterward, if the 
 person goes away sooner. You are now on your 
 fourth month, you know." 
 
 " Mrs. Harwood ! " Valeria repeated. 
 
 " She wrote excusing herself for the mistake she 
 made about the money," the Superior continued.
 
 IN THE NET. 367 
 
 " And that very mistake, the reporting the precise 
 contrary of that which was plainly said to her, does 
 not make her doubt herself," Valeria said. " I have 
 always spoken of her respectfully ; but now she has 
 no longer any claim on my consideration which will 
 prevent my defending myself to the utmost against 
 her. I will never see her again. There is no know- 
 ing what wild reports she may make of me." 
 
 A few days later Mrs. Harwood came to see Valeria, 
 who refused to receive her. 
 
 She went home and wrote her a pleasant note. 
 " You will always know where to find me when you 
 want me," she wrote. 
 
 " I shall never want you," Valeria thought, and 
 made no reply. There was nothing that she could 
 say or do that they would not turn into mischief. 
 There was nothing to be hoped and everything to be 
 feared from them. And where was there any hope ? 
 Every one who was not knowingly malicious seemed 
 to be imbecile. 
 
 It occurred to her to make a public appeal in some 
 American journal. She could send away letters with- 
 out examination. Could it be possible, if she wrote 
 all her story to some journal at home, that her release 
 would not be demanded ? 
 
 But even then she did not wish to write that story ; 
 for, infamous as were the principals, they were less 
 odious in her eyes than their tools. They were bad 
 people, certainly, and they had been insolent and bold 
 in their mode of protecting themselves ; but they had 
 the excuse of self-protection. Could they have under- 
 stood how little she cared to know of their affairs, and 
 how averse she was to speaking of them, they might 
 not have molested her. They had found her in their 
 path, as she had found them in hers. She would wait 
 yet a little longer. 
 
 Her thoughts turned to the Count Belvedere, and
 
 368 BY THE TIBER. 
 
 instantly rejected his aid. He would have found 
 some means of procuring her release, but always with 
 the condition that she should tell her story to him, 
 and to no one else. 
 
 No ; it was better to have nothing to do with any of 
 them. 
 
 But, oh, what could be done ? It was maddening. 
 Those people meant to keep her confined till she 
 should consent to leave Rome, and to point out the 
 length of her confinement as a proof of insanity, if 
 ever she should speak of the real cause of it. Any 
 intimation of hers that they had been dishonest, or 
 even mistaken, was to be treated as a mania. And 
 all this, that a Roman prostitute and her associates 
 might go, not unsuspected, for every one knew what 
 they were, but without fear of being caught. 
 
 Acteon must not look upon these trumpery gods 
 and goddesses in the nudity of their crimes, or they 
 change him to something monstrous in the eyes of 
 the world, and set their dogs to tear him ! 
 
 There was a good, kind chaplain at the Manicomio. 
 He was not, perhaps, very penetrating, but he was 
 very soothing, and entirely devoted to his duties. 
 
 " I will go and see if he can calm me a little," 
 Valeria thought, " for all this is unbearable ; " and she 
 begged Sister Agnes to go down to the chapel with her. 
 
 They did not take the gloomy way through the 
 dormitories, but went down the stairs leading to the 
 cancello on the Lungara, turned aside into the section 
 of the third class of women, passed a court, and en- 
 tered the lower auditorium, which communicated witli 
 the chapel by a grating. It was a gloomy place, but 
 the church was bright and pretty. 
 
 From this auditorium a door opened into a little 
 closet. The priest's box opened into the church, and 
 between the two was the tiny perforated screen of 
 the confessional.
 
 HOME AGAIN. 369 
 
 Did Valeria tell all her story to Don Domenico, 
 does the curious reader ask? By no means. She 
 went to tell her own sins, not the sins of others, and 
 to listen to such comfort as the priest might be in- 
 spired to give. And it is wonderful how fresh and 
 bright the lip-worn old truths will come out some- 
 times, when both speaker and listener turn their backs 
 on life, and go down for a moment to look off over the 
 incoming tide of eternity ; as the dim, wave-rounded 
 pebbles of the beach glow into gems when the foam 
 rolls over them, and wakes the hidden glories of their 
 coloring. 
 
 " Sister Agnes," said Valeria, as they went up-stairs 
 again, " I weigh just three pounds." 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIV. 
 
 HOME AGAIN. 
 
 MARCH passed by, slow day by day, and April 
 came to the twin villas in a shower of blos- 
 soms, like a laughing child that runs into a chamber 
 where one is dying. 
 
 All the eucalyptus- trees and there were many 
 hung out bright spikes and tui'ts of red and yellow at 
 each point of their dark winter boughs ; the sombre 
 box-hedges and the laurels put forth fresh sprouts, 
 and the cruelly nicknamed Judas-tree, waking to 
 find itself leafless, blushed into a hasty blossom that 
 veiled it to the tips of its uttermost twigs, as the I^uly 
 Godiva was veiled by her bright hair. Here a vibur- 
 num shrub held up its glossy spiked leaves, and 
 bunches of delicate white flowers; there, from branches 
 far overhead, hung long clusters of Imperial Purple. 
 24
 
 370 BY THE TIBER. 
 
 There were shrubs that shone with gold, and others 
 that glimmered with silver ; there were the roses of 
 three months, for they had begun in February ; and, 
 climbing against the house, flames of red and yellow 
 nasturtiums, with the soft heliotrope between. It 
 was flowers everywhere, and all day. The Sor Agnes- 
 ina snapped them off when she thought that no one 
 was looking, and flung them away by scores, and was 
 severely scolded when caught. For the Deputy in- 
 terested himself very much in the garden, and con- 
 stantly charged the gardener to have the flowers as 
 profuse as possible. The Signora Agnes broke them 
 off boldly and flung them into people's faces. This 
 woman was permitted to go about now, and was as 
 troublesome, and also as amusing, as a person could 
 well be ; restless, swift, disdainful of authorities, with 
 a generous frankness which was pleasing to those 
 whose faces she did not slap, and a wonderful pene- 
 tration. It was impossible to deceive, to flatter, or to 
 frighten her. 
 
 She had been placed at table with the ladies of 
 the second class in the dining-room, adjoining that 
 where the Duchess and the Donna Claudia ate, and 
 she amused herself in distributing sudden spoonfuls 
 of her soup into the wine-glasses of the others, and 
 in sending occasional telegrams of bones and macaroni 
 at the attendants. Her movements were so quick 
 and so unexpected that it was impossible to foresee 
 and prevent them, and she exhibited the utmost care- 
 lessness of the effects of her actions. One piece of 
 mischief done, she forgot it, and immediately addressed 
 herself to another. 
 
 Sometimes, when being taken into or out of her 
 room, she broke from the nurses, and ran into Vale- 
 ria s chamber. 
 
 " Forgive me ! " she would cry, flinging herself on 
 her knees ; " I don't mean to be impolite to you, but
 
 HOME AGAIN. 371 
 
 I don't like them. Will you forgive me ? You are 
 my angel. I will do anything that you tell me to. 
 I am your devil to serve you." 
 
 " But I don't want to be served by a devil," Valeria 
 said, trying to calm her trembling at the shock of this 
 visit. " If you will be so violent, I shall not like 
 you, nor want you to like me." 
 
 " Well, now I will be quiet," said the woman, seat- 
 ing herself, her eyes scintillating with an excitement 
 which she could not control. "Here are some flowers 
 for you. I will change with you." And she pulled 
 out the flowers that fastened Valeria's collar, and 
 thrust into their place those she had brought. " This 
 is yours," tying around Valeria's arm a blue worsted 
 cord that she had snatched from some one down-stairs, 
 and tying it so roughly as to hurt the arm she waa 
 decorating. "And these are yours. Everything I 
 have is yours," piling into Valeria's lap the different 
 objects that she had gathered about the house. 
 
 The nurse would have drawn her forcibly away, 
 but Valeria would not allow it. Terrible as this 
 intercourse was to her, she had too much compassion 
 for the sufferers to allow them to receive any reproof 
 on her account. Besides, there was something touch- 
 ing in the affection which these poor creatures testi- 
 fied for her ; for even the Signora Ellen would come 
 out of her gloomy trance, and smile with a shy sweet- 
 ness if addressed by her, would kiss over and over 
 the hand she offered, and run with jealous haste to 
 pick up anything she might have dropped. 
 
 There was a fascination in it, too. To enter the 
 labyrinthine windings of those ruined minds ; to find, 
 where all seemed at first but dust and ashes, some 
 noble or exquisite monument still standing intact, or 
 some fragment which had added the pathos of a 
 tragical loss to its former grace ; to study how, pos- 
 sibly, the original city of the soul might be built up
 
 372 BY THE TIBER. 
 
 again in a fairer order than "before, and to see even 
 now order and perfection where others found confu- 
 sion, it was an alluring study. But even so, she 
 went through these strange regions, as Dante went 
 through the shadowy worlds, shrinking within herself, 
 and, worse yet, with no " caro Duca " to guide and 
 reassure her. 
 
 Valeria was peculiarly fitted for such a study, for 
 she carried no positiveness to it. Absolutely passive 
 and unprejudiced when a new subject was presented 
 to her, she left it to make its own impressions on the 
 sensitive texture of her mind, and she formed her 
 judgments, such as they might be, in her own lab- 
 oratory, arid from facts that she knew. To be un- 
 prejudiced, one must also be a little slow in credulity; 
 and she had as little respect as it is possible for a 
 human being to have for popular estimates of people, 
 when those estimates take the form of accusation. 
 
 But this very readiness to receive impressions made 
 her association with the insane at once perilous and 
 intolerably painful. 
 
 She went out into the garden one morning, feeling 
 that she must make some new effort to free herself. 
 The Signora Agnese had violently beset her as she 
 came down ; the Donna Claudia had been wild all 
 night, and was now walking to and fro, muttering and 
 casting sidelong glances at the nurses, her whole 
 manner at once ferocious and cowed, like an inwardly 
 raging lion that fears his keeper. A very ladylike 
 and remarkably intelligent woman, whose sole weak- 
 ness was the idea that some one was trying to poison 
 her, was watching with a trembling and fiery sus- 
 picion while her food was being prepared ; even the 
 Signora Ellen, usually more modest and silent than 
 any other, was going about on tiptoe, with a strange, 
 mocking lightness, and seemed to be angrily mimick- 
 ing some one. The Donna Faustina had forgotten
 
 HOME AGAIN. 373 
 
 her lace-making, and was pacing the veranda, and 
 scolding sotto voce, in French and Italian. "Insults, 
 and insults, and insults ! " she muttered. " I have 
 nothing but insults. I will have them imprisoned ! " 
 
 The English lady was seated on a bench in the 
 midst, shopping, apparently. A great variety of silks, 
 velvets, and laces were being displayed before her, 
 and she was selecting from them, and discussing their 
 merits with the shopman and with her friends. " I 
 must have a black velvet dress with white satin 
 sleeves, for one. That lace is too wide. What ! Do 
 you think that it will do ? Um ! I 'm afraid not. 
 Now show me your pink satins and organdies. Yes, 
 gauze looks well over satin." Then her thoughts 
 went back to a little dance and supper that the Dep- 
 uty had allowed them during Carnival, when, at the 
 moment of breaking up, the dead Carnival had been 
 brought in on a sheet. It was but a bedizened rag- 
 doll ; but to her it had been a corpse. " They drop 
 dead frequently while dancing," she said ; " but they 
 should be carried out quietly, so as not to disturb the 
 company. I could slip them out of sight. If I had 
 to kill a person, I should do it quietly, and hide the 
 body. People don't like to see those tilings. When 
 I kill that woman, no one shall know it." 
 
 In the midst of this, the doctors had been listening 
 to the sister's report, and were writing a few pre- 
 scriptions. 
 
 The Duchess, dressed, as usual, in the morning to 
 go away, had at length become incredulous and des- 
 perate. They had paid her compliments, written her 
 passes, ordered her carriage, and evaded her every day 
 for years, and every day her hope had revived. On 
 this day a suspicion of the truth had come suddenly 
 over her, and she was weeping bitterly. From the 
 veranda where they stood in a splendor of summer 
 and flowers, the city domes and towers were visible
 
 374 BY THE TIBER. 
 
 over the walls ; and beyond, against a sky blazing 
 with light, stood the Alban mountains, with Frascati 
 lying against their rich and misty purple, each storied 
 palace showing a silvery blotch, amid its groves and 
 gardens. Among them was her own family villa. 
 l)own in the city was her own family palace, both 
 called by her maiden name, that had worn the coronet 
 of a marchioness before, as a bride, she had won the 
 ducal circlet. 
 
 Weeping wildly, she stretched out her arms to that 
 mocking vision of her vanished greatness set upon 
 the mountain-side before her eyes. "There is my 
 villa, and I cannot set my foot on its turf nor in its 
 halls," she sobbed. " Other people drive in my car- 
 riages and command my servants. I am mocked 
 every day with promises which they never mean to 
 keep. Oh ! oh ! to see it there, and not to be able 
 to go ! Nobody shows me any respect, none to me, 
 the equal of queens ! I have three coronets on my 
 head, I am a duchess ; and I can call nothing my 
 own ! " 
 
 No one noticed her. What could they do ? They 
 could console her only by giving her freedom. She 
 must weep and rave till she was tired. 
 
 Do the carefully attended, the petted for the scratch 
 of a pin, the condoled with for an ordinary sorrow, 
 the readily helped in every trivial difficulty, under- 
 stand what it might be to stand wildly weeping for 
 the loss of more than life and friends, and have those 
 about merely raise their voices a little in speaking to 
 each other, so as to be heard, the sobs that are 
 rending those hearts no more to these than the sound 
 of carriage- wheels in the street ? 
 
 It was not their fault. Such scenes are the rule 
 in such houses. 
 
 Valeria stood a little while, then walked away into 
 the upper garden, followed by the chief doctor.
 
 HOME AGAIN. 375 
 
 " Well, what are your friends doing about taking 
 you away, signora ? " he asked. 
 
 " I do not know. I hear nothing," she said. " I 
 was told that the Consul wants the approval of those 
 two doctors who consigned me here before he will 
 allow me to come out. Have they anything to say 
 about it ? " 
 
 " Nothing at all ! " he replied. " No one has any 
 authority in the matter but the doctors here." 
 
 Valeria was silent. 
 
 " Signora," said the doctor, " what in the world did 
 they put you in here for ? " 
 
 " They said that I was insane," she replied. 
 
 He was silent in his turn. 
 
 " Doctor, you have had the care of me, have seen 
 me every day, and had the sister's report of me. Now 
 I want you to answer me frankly, on your honor, 
 without fearing to give me offence. If you were 
 asked what you thought of the propriety of my being 
 put in such a place, what would you say ? " 
 
 " In all that I have seen of you," he said immedi- 
 ately, " I have seen no reason whatever why you 
 should have been shut up. But they said that you 
 were a little wandering before you came here." 
 
 " I was worse than wandering, I was lost ! " Vale- 
 ria exclaimed. " I had an illness and delirium, just 
 as any one might have. You may judge how sick 
 I was, if you remember how I looked when I came 
 here, when I tell you that before that illness I was 
 as full in flesh as I am now. I was ill three weeks, 
 and was beginning to get well. I had been quite 
 insensible a part of the time. When I came here 
 I was very weak." 
 
 " As your health improved your mind grew clear, 
 did it not ? " he asked. 
 
 " As you see. I had a week's delirium, maybe." 
 
 " I thought so," he replied.
 
 376 BY THE TIBER. 
 
 There was a moment's silence. 
 
 " We must really do something to get you away," 
 he said then. " It does harm to us, who only come 
 up once a day, to see these people ; how much more 
 to you who are here all the time ! I will speak to 
 the Director about it. But you had better go in 
 now. There is a shower coming up. See how black 
 it is growing over there ! " 
 
 It was one of those sudden tempests that some- 
 times come up on a bright day ; and it had almost 
 covered the western sky before they perceived it. As 
 the doctor spoke, it struck the villa. 
 
 Holding on his hat, he ran toward the bridge. 
 
 Sister Agnes, with the double flaps of her bonnet, 
 black silk over white linen, flying in the wind, ran 
 about gathering the ladies, and getting them into the 
 house. 
 
 Valeria went up to her chamber for a moment ; 
 then, seeking the sister, coaxed out of her an unwill- 
 ing permission to go to the terrace on the roof, and 
 see the storm come in over the city. 
 
 " Only don't stay out in the rain ! " Sister Agnes 
 begged, as she unlocked the terrace door. 
 
 When the first flight of large rain-drops came, flung 
 against the house with a rattling like shot, she went 
 down to her room again. There was a loud booming 
 sound of the wind rushing through some fissure in the 
 ceiling or roof over her window. 
 
 " Hear the Barberini bees ! " she said, thinking of 
 the great stone bees on the cornice outside, to the 
 nurse, who was closing the windows. 
 
 The girl stared. 
 
 Before sunset tlie storm was over; and at evening 
 the full moon rose superbly into a world all golden, 
 and kissed on her silvery forehead by the last sun- 
 beam. Even the sullen Tiber had been put into good- 
 humor by this tempestuous sfogo of the skies. Could
 
 HOME AGAIN. 377 
 
 that be the ugly, wicked Tiber, that shining stream, 
 all delicate rose and silver, with every arch of every 
 bridge mirrored faithfully, and the first arrowy moon- 
 beam quivering "in its tide ? 
 
 Valeria had begged another favor of Sister Agnes ; 
 and when the ladies were all shut into their rooms, 
 she came quietly out of her own. Passing along the 
 corridor, the light of her candle shining on the pretty 
 crimson borders of the doors, she saw a light at the 
 end, in the chamber opposite that of the Signora 
 Agnese, who was shouting her psalms as usual, and, 
 apparently, fancying that she was edifying a large 
 congregation as she lay bound to her bed. The door 
 of this second chamber was open, and a strange, piti- 
 ful sound issued from it, a frightened whimpering, 
 and pleading words in a low trembling voice. 
 
 This was a new patient. She was a young woman, 
 with large, lustrous eyes, and rich hair that fell 
 about her ; and she seemed to be almost paralyzed 
 with terror. The sister and the nurse were trying 
 to soothe her, and to find out what she feared, but 
 could understand nothing. When Valeria went into 
 the room, the woman caught her hand, and gazed up 
 into her face with those large, frightened eyes. 
 
 " siguora, what shall I do ? signora ! " It was 
 all that she would 'say ; but she clung so that her hold 
 had to be loosened, finger by finger. 
 
 " She is another one who will not eat," the sister 
 said. 
 
 Valeria, shivering, hurried away as soon as she was 
 free from that grasp, and went down-stairs. The 
 table for the nurses was prepared in the little dining- 
 room, and they were enjoying an hour of peace and 
 liberty after the long day of watchfulness, to be fol- 
 lowed, in some cases, by a disturbed night. 
 
 Out-doors all the world was radiant with moon- 
 light, and all was silent.
 
 378 BY THE TIBER. 
 
 Valeria went down through the garden, touching 
 the flowers as she went. The yellow roses showed in 
 that light; but the red roses were known only by 
 their sweetness. Wrapping a shawl around her, she 
 seated herself in the swing, and sat there looking 
 about and thinking, only moving the swing softly 
 with a touch now and then. 
 
 Sister Agnes came out, and ran down through the 
 trees toward the bridge. She was going to the Com- 
 munity to supper ; and, the day's work done, the nuns 
 also would have their little hour of recreation. 
 
 " If there is a letter for me, bring it up to-night, 
 Suor Agnes," Valeria called out. 
 
 The nun assented, and hurried on. 
 
 She sat thinking in that scene of enchantment, 
 which was also a scene of despair, till the sister came 
 up. Then she went to her chamber and read the let- 
 ter that was brought to her. Others came in the 
 morning. Letters and papers were coming fast now ; 
 and they all told the same story, either of a success 
 which might have been sweet to her, or of the poison 
 which made that success worse than a failure. Peo- 
 ple liked her book, smiling faces were bending over it 
 far away ; and every word of praise was a feather to 
 the arrow of a lie. People would look up with pleas- 
 ure at sound of her name, and would listen to a story 
 to make the smile die on their lips. Hands would be 
 half outstretched, then coldly withdrawn. 
 
 It was not a great book, it was full of faults, much 
 of it had been written in pain and sickness ; yet it 
 had touched kind hearts that might have been the 
 hearts of friends, but for " these bonds," more cruel 
 than the bonds of St. Paul, viler than the bonds of a 
 murderer. 
 
 The praises that she had hardly dared to hope for 
 came and beat upon the bars of her prison, and fell 
 broken and worthless before her. Better far had she
 
 HOME AGAIN. 379 
 
 been the most obscure person on earth ; for then no 
 one would have cared to know her story. 
 
 She read these notices that were sent her, and 
 dropped them. 
 
 Yet there were times when they drove her almost 
 wild. Was there no one in that far-off land of her 
 birth who would have opened her prison doors, if he 
 had known ? If she should send all her story to tho 
 journals, and call on the American public for protec- 
 tion, would they not demand her release ? 
 
 She resisted the temptation to call for help, and 
 waited. 
 
 This struggle could not continue long without its 
 effects on the sufferer. Perfectly sound in health, 
 without any malady, and gifted with an appearance 
 of robustness, Valeria had yet a sensitiveness of or- 
 ganization that left her body at the mercy of her mind. 
 Sadness became a malady, and fear a disease. A fit 
 of weeping made her physically ill ; a laugh cured her. 
 She felt herself growing ill ; and as her courage died 
 her strength died. Delight would have snatched her 
 from the brink of the grave ; a lie could push her 
 into it. 
 
 There was still left God and Nature ; but God and 
 Nature are companions for other worlds, as well as 
 this. 
 
 Little by little she dropped her writing. Her serial 
 was finished, after a fashion ; and she could not begin 
 anything else. She felt inclined to lie still and sleep. 
 Her life was becoming a dream. 
 
 " Why do you not go out into the city ? " the sister 
 asked. " You stay in the house too much." 
 
 " I have been thinking that I had better die," she 
 replied. " I don't think that I know very well how 
 to live in the world. I don't feel at home in it." 
 
 "Oh, you will not die!" the sister exclaimed. 
 " There is nothing the matter with you. You must
 
 380 BY THE TIBER. 
 
 not lose courage. It is impossible that you can be 
 kept here much longer. I think that you will go in 
 a few days. Dress yourself now and come out into 
 the garden. If you wish to go into the city, I will go 
 down and get you a pass." 
 
 Valeria shook her head, but suffered herself to be 
 helped to dress. 
 
 " Promise me one thing ! " she said suddenly to the 
 sister as they went down-stairs. " Don't let any of 
 those people ever come near me under any circum- 
 stances whatever. Keep them all away from me." 
 
 " They shall not come near you. But they will not 
 wish to." 
 
 " If I died, they might. They would come and look 
 me over just as if they were friends. Listen to what 
 one of them did. There was an American lady who 
 died a few years ago in Rome. She was on unpleas- 
 ant terms with that Miss Crankey whom you saw here 
 with Mrs. Harwood, and who was never received by 
 her. But as soon as the lady was dead, Miss Crankey 
 went to ^her house, there was no relative to keep 
 her out, and went into every room of it. The mis- 
 tress of the house was in her coffin on the floor. That 
 woman stood and looked at the coffin, as at any other 
 piece of furniture, commented upon it, said that the 
 occupant was older than she owned, and gossiped 
 about everything. It was horrible. Don't let them 
 come near me ! " 
 
 " They shall not," the sister promised. " But cheer 
 up ! You are not going to die." 
 
 " Feel my hand : it is hot. And see my tongue : 
 it was all white this morning. I have fever again ; 
 and this is the third time." 
 
 The sister stopped. " You ought to go back to bed," 
 she said. " I will call the doctor." 
 
 " No ; let me go out once again. You may call the 
 doctor, though, if you like."
 
 HOME AGAIN. 381 
 
 She went out into the garden, which was glitterin<* 
 with a splendid drench of dew that the sun had heated, 
 but not yet dried, and, wandering down by the terraces] 
 began to gather flowers. Every day she fastened her 
 collar with flowers ; and if she wore a veil, it was 
 pinned on with a rose. 
 
 First came large yellow roses, pale and pure ; then, 
 against the wall, roses of a lovely pink ; and, last of 
 all, growing so high up in a corner that one had to 
 pull the branches down with a cane, roses of so dark 
 a velvet red as to be almost purple, and so fragrant 
 that all the air about was heavy with the breath of 
 them. 
 
 Large scented dew-drops rolled down as the stems 
 were pulled ; every green leaf was set round with a 
 thick row of tiny drops ; the rose-thorns, large and of 
 a light transparent crimson, seemed to be full of blood ; 
 an intense, full life breathed in everything. 
 
 Valeria went back to the little garden, where the 
 ladies of the house were. It was one of the visiting 
 days, and there were two or three strangers staring 
 about them, and making comments with as much free- 
 dom as if they were examining the wares iu a shop. 
 
 One of the patients of the second class came to 
 Valeria, and, pointing over her shoulder, said, 
 
 "These people come here afid look at us quite with 
 an air of superiority. They seem to think that it is 
 not necessary to treat us with good manners. I shall 
 go to my room." 
 
 She went ; and" one of the visitors, thinking from 
 Valeria's veil and shawl, and from her being unat- 
 tended, that she also was a visitor, came to ask her 
 some questions about the place. 
 
 Who was this lady ? Who that ? Were they vio- 
 lent, or dangerous ? And what did they say ? 
 
 Valeria replied with some reserve. 
 
 " Is either of those ladies insane ? " pursued her
 
 382 BY THE TIBER. 
 
 questioner, pointing to where the Duchess sat talking 
 with a friend. 
 
 A mischievous impulse seized Valeria, and she rep- 
 resented the visitor as the patient and the patient as 
 the visitor. 
 
 The lady watched the two eagerly. " Yes, one sees 
 that she is queer," she said, her eyes fixed on the un- 
 lucky visitor. " There is a certain wild light in the 
 eyes of an insane person which can never be mis- 
 taken. And how oddly she pulls at her dress ! Such 
 a dress, too ! Does she ever rave ? " 
 
 " I cannot say, but I have no doubt that she does," 
 Valeria replied gravely. " But the other lady has a 
 very pleasant manner, don't you think so ? " 
 
 " She is exceedingly graceful and affable," the lady 
 said, gazing at the Duchess. 
 
 " You perceive the difference in their eyes at once." 
 
 " Oh, dear, yes ! " 
 
 The sister beckoned from the house-door, and Vale- 
 ria went to the anteroom and found the doctor waiting 
 there. 
 
 " Why did you not remain in bed, and call me 
 earlier ? " he asked almost angrily, after having felt 
 her pulse, and looked at her tongue. " You must go 
 to bed at once." 
 
 She looked at him attentively. His face was very 
 much disturbed. " Give me five minutes, and then I 
 will go," she said ; and, without waiting for his per- 
 mission, ran down a side door to the veranda, and out 
 into the garden. 
 
 One more look upon the beautiful earth before the 
 bars of her windows should stamp their crosses on 
 earth and sky ! One more glance at a summer cloud 
 with nothing between them but the air ! One more 
 unfettered breeze straight out of heaven into her face ! 
 Once more with her feet on the blessed green grass ! 
 
 " Oh, merciful Christ, it is hard to give them up !"
 
 HOME AGAIN. 383 
 
 She caught the dew-wet rose-vines against her fore- 
 head. 
 
 " Sweetest Nature, can you not save me ? " 
 
 She bent and gathered a daisy from the grass under 
 her feet ; then looked off over the city that had killed 
 her and to the mountains. " I will look up to the 
 hills whence help cometh." 
 
 If help should come now, she might live. With hope, 
 her heart was strong enough to face twenty fevers. 
 
 There was no help in that hour. 
 
 " Come, signora !" called the sister. 
 
 " You must not stay out here in the damp," the 
 doctor said, passing by. 
 
 Valeria cast one more glance over the world, and in 
 that glance her heart broke. 
 
 She turned and sank into the sister's arms. There 
 was no more resistance. They might do with her as 
 they pleased. 
 
 She asked to see a confessor when she had gone to 
 bed, and taken the quinine that was ordered for her. 
 
 " I want him to-day," she said, naming the one she 
 chose. " He knows me well. It won't be so necessary 
 for me to talk much to him as to Don Domenico. If 
 I am to take quinine, I must not put anything off; 
 for quinine confuses my mind. And, Sister Agnes, 
 put the curtaiu down, and never raise it again." 
 
 At first she did not seem to be in danger. Her 
 danger was in there being no resistance on her o\vu 
 part to the malady. She was like one who lies down 
 and drowns in shallow water. 
 
 And that she was drowning they saw in a few days. 
 All that skill and kindness could do was in vain. 
 She only lay there and let herself die. 
 
 One day it was May now the sister came to 
 say that a young girl wished to come in, and would 
 take no denial. 
 
 Valeria assented faintly.
 
 384 BY THE TIBER. 
 
 The door opened, and the girl entered, dressed in 
 "black, and wearing a black veil on her head. She 
 hastened to the bed, dropped on her knees beside it, 
 and seizing Valeria's hand, kissed and wept over it. 
 
 At a sign, the sister drew aside the heavy curtain 
 before the dressing-room, and the red light from the 
 western window inside shone over the glossy black 
 hair strewn on the counterpane. 
 
 " Who is it ? " asked Valeria ; then, as the face was 
 raised into that light, she added after a moment : 
 " llosa Prenestina ! " 
 
 " Papa has heard ! " the girl whispered. " He says 
 that he can take you out of here. He understands." 
 She looked eagerly into Valeria's face. 
 
 " No, dear, your father can do nothing. God is 
 taking me out of here." 
 
 " The Signor Eduardo is in Palestrina. He has just 
 gone there," Rosa said breathlessly. " I have been 
 with my aunt in Rome ; but I will go to Palestrina 
 to-morrow. He will come here to see you." 
 
 " No ; it is too late." 
 
 " What shall I tell him for you ? " asked Rosa amid 
 her tears. 
 
 " Say addio ! " 
 
 The sister interposed, and drew the weeping girl 
 away, and Valeria sank again into the dreamy half- 
 sleep from which the visit had roused her. Steps 
 entered the room, but she did not hear them ; there 
 were low voices, and a sound of prayer. They did not 
 touch her. 
 
 She was wandering along a road in New England 
 where she had often walked in childhood through her 
 father's woods. They stretched eastward from the 
 town in hundreds of acres that no man's memory and 
 no history of man had ever seen other than now, 
 a stately growth of primeval forests. A thread of a 
 brook ran along beside the path. She watched it as
 
 HOME AGAIN. 385 
 
 she walked, and stooped now and then for the little 
 gold-colored violets that grew beside it. And there 
 was pennyroyal too. She must gather some of that 
 to take home to mother. 
 
 The prayers for the dying were being recited for 
 her in Rome ; but she knew nothing of them. She 
 was in New England, and she was a child. Love, 
 protection, utter safety, all that make the home of 
 childhood, gathered themselves about her. They were 
 close by, beyond the trees. 
 
 " I like to walk in this road," she said aloud. 
 A voice disturbed her, though it was low and 
 gentle, a voice used to speaking on the shore of 
 life, where the waves of eternity come up and fill the 
 ears of the dying as with the murmur of sea-shells. 
 
 " Are you willing to take this solemn journey ? " 
 asked the priest. 
 
 She roused herself a little. 
 
 " A journey ? Does it cost much ? I have n't money 
 enough for a journey." 
 
 " It costs only love and penitence," the priest said, 
 with impressive slowness. 
 
 She sighed with relief, and let the momentary care 
 slip ; and, turning her cheek to the pillow, her head 
 drooped a little. 
 
 " I have love enough ! " she said. 
 There was a pause. She sighed again ; and more 
 faintly " I have penitence enough ! " she whispered. 
 The priest bent suddenly forward, and called out in 
 a clear, penetrating voice, " Jesu ! Maria ! " 
 
 The Heavenly Ones stood by her as their names were 
 called out with all the passion of a consecrated soul 
 that in that instant performed its most solemn func- 
 tion. Yet they did not corne to her in Rome, but to 
 the silent woods of New England. And as they found 
 her, so they led her away, a child, with her hands full 
 of violets and pennyroyal. 
 25
 
 386 BY THE TIBER. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXV. 
 
 "SAID THE NORTH TO THE SOUTH." 
 
 IT was a sunny May morning in Palestrina, and 
 Rosa Bandini, who had arrived the evening 
 before from Rome, was at the old palace with her 
 father. 
 
 Marco had been ill of fever all winter, with a re- 
 lapse in the spring ; but he was coming back to life 
 again now, the life of a broken old man. 
 
 " Never speak of Vittorio to any one," he had said 
 to Rosa. " If people question you, do not answer a 
 word. Look at them, and shut your lips. We shall 
 never see him again." 
 
 She understood him. She never spoke ; she only 
 wept. 
 
 But when with the spring her father grew, better, 
 and she saw that he would be spared to her, a faifit 
 color began to come back to her face, and sometimes 
 a faint smile flickered over her lips. You cannot beat 
 a summer brook to death while it hangs only half- 
 way down the mountain-side, so long as it has a rock 
 to dance over, and sees the plain below ; nor can you 
 crush a young heart that is still on the morning 
 heights of life, while it rests on a firm basis of house- 
 hold love and protection, and can still see through its 
 tears the vision of a possible delight in the future. 
 
 Rosa was saddened then, but not broken. 
 
 The Signor Eduardo was in the Tempietto, painting. 
 She had seen him come up early in the morning, and 
 heard his step on the stair; and before his model 
 should come, she was going up to speak to him. 
 There was no difficulty in her going up alone ; for 
 beside the confidence which he inspired in all about
 
 "SAID THE NORTH TO THE SOUTH." 387 
 
 him, Rosa had now much more liberty than Italian 
 girls usually have. Her father would not allow her 
 to be fettered, and was troubled only at seeing how 
 little she cared for liberty. 
 
 What motive it was which had made the girl as- 
 sume her contadina dress that morning, she would 
 have found it hard to tell. She had not worn it for 
 a year, not since she had seen the Dane the summer 
 before. But now she arrayed herself in the dark blue 
 corsets and petticoat, and white camicia, and draped 
 a rose-colored kerchief over her shoulders. It was 
 half pride and half fear which actuated her. He 
 must not think that she was trying to play the lady, 
 and so laugh at her perhaps ; and she must not really 
 play the lady, and make him forget, and then be an- 
 noyed afterward. In her corsets and neckerchief she 
 was herself. 
 
 Yet her heart beat hard as she went up the stair, 
 and stepped out into the crescent-shaped garden, with 
 its wild luxuriance of dewy grass and weeds, and its 
 broken statues, and her hand trembled as she pulled 
 the latch-string of the gate that led into the enclosure 
 outside the last story of the palace. A door stood 
 open into this enclosure. She crossed a ruined cham- 
 ber, and stood in the door of the Tempietto, with the 
 painter at his easel before her, and a sunny world 
 behind his figure for a background. 
 
 He was very intent upon the painting of a ragged 
 boy who, on being caught by the gardener, must look 
 up from the Jinocchio he was down on his knees to 
 steal, with a certain mixture of bravado, deprecation, 
 innocence, and confusion not easy to combine in one 
 small face, and he did not look to see whose step it 
 was in the door ; taking for granted, moreover, that 
 the boy-model had come. 
 
 Kosa stood and looked at him. The morning light 
 seemed to shine through his pure, pale face ; and it
 
 388 BY THE TIBER. 
 
 steeped in a soft gold his fair hair and beard. Never 
 had he seemed to her so glorious. As he stood, a 
 dark blue wall of far-off mountain was behind his 
 head ; and she thought that if some new great master 
 should want to paint an angel, he should paint the 
 Sign or Eduardo. 
 
 Come here, now ! " the painter said, without look- 
 ing away from his work. 
 
 Rosa understood his mistake ; but she went toward 
 him without a word. 
 
 The figure struck him, probably, as too tall for his 
 boy-model, for he looked up quickly, and uttered an 
 exclamation. Then, smiling, he laid down his palette 
 and brushes, and rose and went to meet her, and took 
 her hand, and, breathing quickly with a glad agita- 
 tion, looked into her downcast face, and waited for 
 her to speak, or for her present image, to take its 
 place in his mind before he could speak. He had 
 only pronounced her name, and she had not uttered a 
 word. She stood drooping, half with bashfuluess, 
 half with sorrow, and moved, too, by a little flutter of 
 
 jy- 
 
 " I 'm glad to see you, Rosa," the painter said. 
 
 She cast an eloquent glance upward to his face, 
 smiled in a swift flash of light across her trouble and 
 her tears, and then said, while her eyes drooped again, 
 " I have a message for you from Madama Valeria." 
 
 " Madama "Valeria ? " he repeated, with a momen- 
 tary doubt. Then, " Oh, the American who was here 
 last summer ! Where is she ? " 
 
 Rosa went to lean on the parapet. She felt a need 
 of support He followed her, and she told her story. 
 But while expressing his sorrow and his sympathy 
 with her, there was ever an undercurrent of delight 
 in watching that sweet, ingenuous face, now over- 
 flowed by a shower of tears, now lighted by a swift 
 smile, and the lustrous dark eyes, that were lifted for
 
 "SAW THE NORTH TO THE SOUTH." 389 
 
 a moment in self-forgetful earnestness, then dropped 
 in self-conscious modesty under his steady gaze. 
 
 The boy-model came, and waited all" imheeded ; 
 and, finding the couple so engrossed, seated himself 
 on the pavement, and cast longing eyes on the brushes 
 and colors, and on a certain pencil sketch of himself, 
 and wondered how much he could sell any one of 
 these articles for, if he should slip it under his rags 
 while those two stood shut in by a golden wall of 
 love. For little Beppo had heard of love, and already 
 fancied that he saw it whenever his eyes fell on a 
 man and woman talking together. To his mind, 
 there were but two subjects which could occupy 
 them : love and stealing. These two persons, being 
 enormously rich in his estimation, could not be plan- 
 ning how to get somebody's money. They were, 
 therefore, talking about love. 
 
 The story was told, the comments were made upon 
 it, the mutual questions which friends who have not 
 met for a year ask each other had been answered, and 
 they stood leaning on the parapet in silence. The 
 sun came round to them, and Kosa moved to the 
 shadow of the pillar near, and half turned to go. 
 
 " Stay ! " said the painter suddenly. " I want to 
 see you a little longer. I will send this boy away, 
 for I don't need him this morning." 
 
 Turning to address his model, the Signer Eduardo 
 saw him slip a brush into one of the many loopholes 
 in his vesture, and surprised also on his face the very 
 expression he wanted for lusfinocchio stealer; but he 
 not only seemed unaware of the disappearing brush, 
 he did not stop to catch that precious medley of 
 expressions. 
 
 " Come this afternoon," he said ; and the boy slid 
 swiftly away, as though he had been snapped off the 
 finger-nail of the hand that only waved itself toward 
 him.
 
 390 BY THE TIBER. 
 
 " Eosa, are you willing to be my wife ? " asked the 
 Dane, facing his companion again, and sending the 
 words out witli the suddenness of a heart-throb. 
 
 She looked up with a startled glance and a swift 
 momentary pallor; then dropped her eyes with as 
 swift a blush. 
 
 " Oh, Signer Eduardo!" she said, and choked a little, 
 then burst into tears. 
 
 " That means yes ! " said the painter, and laid his 
 hand softly on her hair, and smoothed it half timidly, 
 as if he had never before touched a woman's hair, and 
 knew not well what wonderful thing would happen to 
 his hand in touching it. 
 
 " Of course it is yes, if you really mean it," said 
 Eosa, laughing through her tears and blushes. " I 
 shall be so happy ! I don't know what to say. I do 
 not understand how you can think me good enough. 
 I will do all I can to please you." 
 
 Earnest little simpleton ! who did not know that 
 to be herself, and to stand there all tender blushes 
 and sunlighted tears, was to please him more than 
 words could tell. 
 
 The sun touched the meridian, and set all the town 
 bells ringing for the vigil of Pentecost, and showed a 
 curve of bright sea between the southern mountains, 
 and gilded the rough stones, and filled the empty 
 places with light, and set a glittering frame around 
 the cool shadows, and glorified all this scene in which 
 two, at least, of God's creatures were happy. 
 
 And the sunlight, like all things in nature, was 
 but a sign repeating ever to our forgetful human souls 
 how 
 
 " God's greatness 
 Flows around our incompleteness; 
 Round our restlessness, His rest."
 
 Messrs. Roberts Brothers Publications. 
 
 THE NO NAME (SECOND) SEEIES, 
 
 SlGNOR MONALDINI'S NIECE. 
 
 Extracts from some Opinions by wdl-known Authors. 
 
 "We have read ' Signor Monaldini's Niece' with intensest 
 interest and delight. The style is finished and elegant, the at- 
 mosphere of the book is enchanting. We seem to have lived in 
 Italy while we were reading it. The author has delineated with a 
 hand as steady as it is powerful and skilful some phases of human 
 life and experience that authors rarely dare attempt, and with 
 marvellous success. We think this volume by far the finest of 
 the No Name Series." 
 
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 knew all the people. . . . Miss Conroy is a strong character, and 
 her tragedy is a fine background for the brightness of the other 
 and higher natures. It is all so dramatic and full of color it goes 
 on like a lovely play and leaves one out of breath when the cur- 
 tain falls." 
 
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 wonderfully well done from first to last." 
 
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 tempted to *ead the book, and that she will in her turn bring it to 
 the reading of other women, especially if she can find any Mrs. 
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 THREE NEW NOVELS 
 
 BY THREE OF THE MOST POPULAR " NO NAME " AUTHORS. 
 
 THE HEAD OF MEDUSA. By GEORGE FLEMING, author 
 of " Kismet " and "Mirage." 
 
 II. 
 
 BY THE TIBER. By the author of " Signor Monaldini's 
 Niece." 
 
 III. 
 
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 Majesty, Myself." 
 
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