were her own son.

But all endeavors to check the progress of the disease were futile. The
enfeebled lungs could offer no resistance. One day, after having lain as
if asleep for some time, Howard opened his eyes, to find Mrs. Douglas
beside him. With a faint smile he whispered:--

"I have been thinking so much. I am glad now that Barbara does not love
me, for it would only give her pain--sometime tell her of my love for
her--"

Then by and by, with the tenderest look in his large eyes, he added,
"May she come, to let me see her once more?--You will surely trust me
now!"

"Oh, Howard! My noble Howard!" was all that Mrs. Douglas could answer;
but at her words a look of wonderful happiness lighted his face.

When Mrs. Douglas asked the physician if a friend could be permitted to
see Howard, he replied:--

"He cannot live; therefore let him have everything he desires."

And so, before consciousness left him, Barbara came with wondering,
sorrowful eyes, and in answer to his pleading look and Mrs. Douglas's
low word, bent her fair young head and kissed tenderly the brow of the
dying young man who had loved her so much better than she knew. And
Howard's life ebbed away.

It was almost as if one of the family were gone. They did not know how
much a part of their life he had become until he came no more to the
home he had enjoyed so much--to talk--to study--to bring tributes of
love and gratitude--and to contribute all he could to their happiness.

Whatever they would do, wherever they would go, there was one missing,
and their world was sadly changed.

Mr. Sumner sent the mournful tidings to the lonely grandmother over the
ocean, and accompanied the faithful John as far as Genoa, on his way
homeward with the remains of the young master he had carried in his arms
as a child.

Then, as it was so difficult to take up even for a little time the old
life in Florence, it was decided that they should go at once toward
Rome.

Chapter XI.

On the Way to Rome.

_Fair Italy!
Thou art the garden of the world, the home
Of all art yields, and nature can decree:
Even in thy desert, what is like to thee?
Thy very weeds are beautiful, thy waste
More rich than other climes' fertility:
Thy wreck a glory, and thy ruin grand
With an immaculate charm which cannot be defaced._

--LORD BYRON.

[Illustration: ORVIETO CATHEDRAL.]

"We will take a roundabout