expected. He found him in a small cottage surrounded by a barren, sandy
patch of ground overgrown with neglected vines and vagabond weeds. The
interior was hot and untidy. On a couch a woman in the firm grip of
consumption was lying; an emaciated, feverish woman, fretful with acute
suffering. A little child, wan and waxy-looking, and apparently as ill
as its mother, wailed in a cot by her side. Signor Lanza was smoking
under a fig-tree in the neglected acre, which had been a vineyard or a
garden. Harry had gone into the village for some necessity; and when he
returned Julius felt a shock and a pang of regret for the dashing young
soldier squire that he had known as Harry Sandal.

He kissed his wife with passionate love and sorrow, and then turned to
Julius with that mute look of inquiry which few find themselves able to
resist.

"He is alive yet,--much better, he says; and Charlotte thinks he may be
in the fields again next season."

"Thank God! My poor Beatrice and her baby! You see what is coming to
them?"

"Yes."

"And I am so poor I cannot get her the change of air, the luxuries, the
medicines, which would at least prolong life, and make death easy."

"Go back with me to Sandal-Side, and see the squire: he may listen to
you now."

"Never more! It was cruel of father to take my marriage in such a way.
He turned my life's joy into a crime, cursed every hour that was left
me."

"People used to be so intense--'a few strong feelings,' as Mr.
Wordsworth says--too strong for ordinary life. We really can't afford to
love and hate and suffer in such a teetotal way now; but the squire came
from the Middle Ages. This is a dreadfully hot place, Harry."

"Yes, it is. We were very much deceived in it. I bought it; and we
dreamed of vineyards and milk and wine, and a long, happy, simple life
together. Nothing has prospered with us. We were swindled in the house
and land. The signor knows nothing about vines. He was born here, and
wanted to come back and be a great man." And as he spoke he laughed
hysterically, and took Julius into an inner room. "I don't want Beatrice
to hear that I am out of money. She does not know I am destitute. That
sorrow, at least, I have kept from her."

"Harry, I am going to make you a proposal. I want to be kind and just to
you. I want to put you beyond the need of any one's help. Answer me one
question truly. If your father dies, what will you do?"

"You said he was getting better. For God