e understands everything but he
can explain nothing."

"He has visions of the saints," said the man who drove the cab.

"But my sister--where has she gone? How has she met him?"

"She has gone for a walk," asserted the landlady. It was a nasty
evening, but she was beginning to understand the English. "She has gone
for a walk--perhaps to wish good-bye to her little nephew. Preferring to
come back another way, she has sent you this note by the poor idiot and
is waiting for you outside the Siena gate. Many of my guests do this."

There was nothing to do but to obey the message. He shook hands with
the landlady, gave the messenger a nickel piece, and drove away. After
a dozen yards the carriage stopped. The poor idiot was running and
whimpering behind.

"Go on," cried Philip. "I have paid him plenty."

A horrible hand pushed three soldi into his lap. It was part of the
idiot's malady only to receive what was just for his services. This was
the change out of the nickel piece.

"Go on!" shouted Philip, and flung the money into the road. He was
frightened at the episode; the whole of life had become unreal. It was
a relief to be out of the Siena gate. They drew up for a moment on the
terrace. But there was no sign of Harriet. The driver called to the
Dogana men. But they had seen no English lady pass.

"What am I to do?" he cried; "it is not like the lady to be late. We
shall miss the train."

"Let us drive slowly," said the driver, "and you shall call her by name
as we go."

So they started down into the night, Philip calling "Harriet! Harriet!
Harriet!" And there she was, waiting for them in the wet, at the first
turn of the zigzag.

"Harriet, why don't you answer?"

"I heard you coming," said she, and got quickly in. Not till then did he
see that she carried a bundle.

"What's that?"

"Hush--"

"Whatever is that?"

"Hush--sleeping."

Harriet had succeeded where Miss Abbott and Philip had failed. It was
the baby.

She would not let him talk. The baby, she repeated, was asleep, and she
put up an umbrella to shield it and her from the rain. He should
hear all later, so he had to conjecture the course of the wonderful
interview--an interview between the South pole and the North. It was
quite easy to conjecture: Gino crumpling up suddenly before the intense
conviction of Harriet; being told, perhaps, to his face that he was a
villain; yielding his only son perhaps for money, perhaps for nothing.
"Poor G