rs of introduction to some artists, in the hope
of obtaining work from them. I found his reply to this letter awaiting
my arrival in Rome; and though I had not hinted at my destitution, he
must have guessed it, for he inclosed a check and all the information I
desired. I provided myself with a humble studio and recommenced work.
How fresh and charming was this return to my old mode of life! I even
bought a few choice books at the old stalls, and revelled in poetry.
Dante opened his Purgatory to me just as I escaped from my own, and I
basked in the returning sun-light of a free and happy life.

Copying in a painting-gallery one day, I beheld with pain, albeit he was
my benefactor, a ghost of my former life arising to haunt me. Mr.
Leopold, having arrived the night before, was enjoying the pictures
preparatory to hunting me up. His greeting was cordial; he cheered me by
most favorable opinions as to my progress in my art, and was dumb about
the past. He desired that I should again work in connection with
himself; and the profound respect I had always felt for his abilities
was confirmed and heightened by the affection he inspired in me. His
really harmonious character guided mine without the absolute surrender
of my individuality. One by one I resumed the old interests, and began
to feel the old heart which has throbbed through the centuries, from
Adam downward, beating within me. How very much I was like other men,
after all!

"Sandy," Mr. Leopold said to me one day, as we sat sketching some old
ruin on the Campagna, "is it your wish to be silent as to the past? Are
you restrained by fear of yourself or me?"

For only answer I exclaimed,--

"How and where is Miss Darry?"

"She is well, and at Munich," he answered, smiling
pleasantly,--"developing in herself the powers with which she invested
you. As a sculptress she gives great promise; her figures show wonderful
anatomical knowledge."

"And you, Mr. Leopold," I asked breathlessly, "how could you forgive and
befriend one who had so weakly treated the woman you alone were worthy
to love?"

"You are indeed breaking silence, Sandy," he replied; "it is with you
the Chinese wall or illimitable space. Perhaps you have not really
wronged either her or me. She worked off some extravagant theories on
you. You exhausted your weakness, I trust, on her; and as for me, I have
learned to conquer through both."

I have lived several years since that morning in Rome, where, at