mber
that ... Adieu, my son ... the end is near ... if death does not
annihilate ... those who remain on earth ... a helper and advocate in
heaven ... Adieu!" And interrupting these broken words were half-smothered
cries and sobs from David Rossi, repeating again and again: "I will!
I swear to God I will!"

Elena could bear the pain no longer, and mustering up her courage she
tapped at the door. It was a gentle tap, and no answer was returned. She
knocked louder, and then an angry voice said:

"Who's there?"

"It's I--Elena," she answered timidly. "Is anything the matter? Aren't
you well, sir?"

"Ah, yes," came back in a calmer voice, and after a shuffling sound as
of the closing of drawers, David Rossi opened the door and came out.

As he crossed the threshold he cast a backward glance into the dark
room, as if he feared that some invisible hand would touch him on the
shoulder. His face was pale and beads of perspiration stood on his
forehead, but he smiled, and in a voice that was a little hoarse, yet
fairly under control, he said:

"I'm afraid I've frightened you, Elena."

"You're not well, sir. Sit down, and let me run for some cognac."

"No! It's nothing! Only...."

"Take this glass of water, sir."

"That's good! I'm better now, and I'm ashamed. Elena, you mustn't think
any more of this, and whatever I may do in the future that seems to you
to be strange, you must promise me never to mention it."

"I needn't _promise_ you that, sir," said Elena.

"Bruno is a brave, bright, loyal soul, Elena, but there are times...."

"I know--and I'll never mention it to anybody. But you've taken a chill
on the roof at sunset looking at the illuminations--that's all it is!
The nights are frosty now, and I was to blame that I didn't send out
your cloak."

Then she tried to be cheerful, and turning to the sleeping boy, said:

"Look! He was naughty again and wouldn't go to bed until you came out to
carry him."

"The dear little man!" said David Rossi. He stepped up to the couch, but
his pale face was preoccupied, and he looked at Elena again and said:

"Where does Donna Roma live?"

"Trinita de' Monti--eighteen," said Elena.

"Is it late?"

"It must be half-past eight at least, sir."

"We'll take Joseph to bed then."

He was putting his arms about the boy to lift him when a
slippery-sloppery step was heard on the stairs, followed by a hurried
knock at the door.

It was the old Garibaldian porter, breathl